


You Spin Me Right Round

by SuedeScripture



Category: Actor RPF, Star Trek RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anxiety Disorder, Crying, Guilt, Homophobic Language, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Mutual Masturbation, Panic Attacks, Praise, Public Humiliation, Social Anxiety, Sociophobia, Stuttering, Vomiting, Wordplay as foreplay, phone sex (sort of?), unintended humilation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-23
Updated: 2015-05-26
Packaged: 2018-02-22 06:43:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 25
Words: 41,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2498375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SuedeScripture/pseuds/SuedeScripture
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pinto Kinkmeme Fill: Shy Chris</p><p>"Chris is painfully shy and goes to the same 24hr laundromat every week to do his wash. Zach's just moved into the neighborhood and notices him. He tries to flirt, but Chris freezes up and Zach's not sure what's going on."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_No Loitering_  
 _No Smoking_  
 _No Soliciting_  
 _No Gambling_  
 _No Pets_

…said the sign beside the service window. It also said _No Service after 8pm, for broken machines leave a message at 555-SPIN_

But the Wash & Spin was, to Zach’s relief, cleaner than most 24 hour laundromats he’d been the unfortunate patron of. He had noted, as almost an addendum to a laundromat that was almost too well kept, that the coin machine had an out-of-order sign taped to it. Just to offset the too-good-to-be-true atmosphere, of course. Something around here had to be broken, or he’d have thought he stumbled into some other dimension.

And it was 3am on a Tuesday, so sans one tousled head of hair he could see on the opposite side of the row of triple-load washers cutting the room in half, he had the place to himself. A load of whites in one front loader and darks in the other, he sat at a table nearby with his Kindle and settled in to the quiet amongst the rhythmic thump spin cycles, the scent of bleach and too-bright fluorescents.

Once done, he dumped both loads into a cart and wheeled it around to the bank of dryers, choosing one far enough away from the other guy. Laundromat etiquette wasn’t unlike the subway, or urinal rules, really. Don’t choose the one next to someone else unless you have to, don’t talk, don’t make eye contact, don’t peek.

Well, no, that wasn’t strictly true. Laundromats being what they are, and nevermind the whole cliché boy-meets-whoever over folding unmentionables, but still, 24 hour laundromats had kind of a different set of rules for the sort of people who haunt the nighttime hours. Zach had far too much experience.

As Zach pushed his damp clothes into a dryer, Shaggy six machines down appeared to be doing the “shit I’m _completely_ out of quarters” dance. The guy was searching the pockets of his skinny black jeans, of the jacket and backpack on the table he’d occupied nearby and coming up empty.

Feeding his own machine and hitting the start button, Zach fished a couple more quarters out of his pocket and approached. “Hey.”

Shaggy seemed to freeze, so Zach stepped around him to get a look at his face. _Holy shit, hello gorgeous_. Underneath that spiky, endearingly unkempt mop were the bluest eyes he’d ever seen, lips too pouty and red to be true, and God, the blush painting itself across his cheekbones over a slightly scruffy yet chiseled jawline, _oh no_. Zach might be doing a lot of laundry soon.

“I have spares,” Zach offered a friendly smile, holding out the money in his hand. Those crystal blue eyes darted to it and swiftly away without turning his head, shoulders hunched under his hoodie, an indecipherable look on his face.

“Go ahead, man, I have more than enough,” Zach pulled out a couple more coins in case two wasn’t enough and took a step closer. But the guy flinched, and in possibly the weirdest turn of events, skirted around Zach to grab his backpack, and took off for the door into the night, bell ringing wildly in his wake.

“O-kay,” Zach commented to the lone thump-swoosh of his own clothes dryer. He shrugged, pushing the quarters into the machine the guy had abandoned, still full of clothes, and hit the start button. Looking around the now deserted laundromat, he spotted a notebook on the guy’s table.

When Zach’s own load of wash was done, Shaggy still hadn’t returned to retrieve his own clothes or the notebook. He lingered over his folding, and then loitered despite the sign for a good ten minutes, eyeing the notebook. At the end of it, he glanced at the door, then tentatively opened the pages, spotting loopy, unruly felt-tip handwriting. His heart cartwheeled, slamming it shut and setting it down again, mopping a guilty hand over his mouth. Because there are rules: don’t read anything covered and handwritten to which you aren’t explicitly given permission. No matter how strong the temptation.

Shooting one more look at the door, he opened the notebook again, to the back, tugging out one blank, college-ruled page. He pulled out the pen and quickly wrote:

_you left this notebook. i didn’t read it. i’m sorry for whatever i did to spook you. i swear I’m not a serial killer or anything, just another bartender who works weird hours. i’m zach. you’re cute. hit me up at the Cave on 8th if you ever want to talk._


	2. Chapter 2

The following week when Zach came into the Wash & Spin, he was not alone. There were two college-looking guys and a pretty woman, textbooks and coffees between them, filling the space with raucous laughter, smug insults and excess volume, and absolutely nothing resembling studying. One banged on the obviously broken coin machine, as if it would help to apply fists, and the other whined about his blue shirt coming out of the wash a muddy shade of purple.

Zach peeked hopefully over the wall of triple loaders. His shy guy wasn’t visible, but his things were: the backpack and the notebook as well as a coffee cup, with a washer spinning nearby. Good. Zach could just as easily come back another night to avoid having to sit here alone with this crowd.

Tossing his own wash in a couple of machines, Zach sat down at his same table from before, doing his level best to ignore the bullshit happening behind him. Maybe his guy had just gone down the block to get another coffee and some quiet. He couldn’t blame him for that.

Either time had slowed way down when stuck listening to dudebro attempts to impress a girl, or it took a truly agonizing amount of time for Shaggy to reappear.

Lifting his head at the sound of the restroom door toward the back of the laundromat, Zach’s heart did a somersault. Wide blue eyes latched onto his own, the guy frozen like a deer in headlights.

Zach tilted his head and lifted a hand in a friendly wave of recognition and tossed a cringe over his shoulder, indicating the dudebros. Whoops. Wrong move. Those bright eyes immediately darted down, away, at anything else but Zach, red mottling crawling up his cheeks.

The woman left the front table and trotted in her heels back to the restroom, beaming sweetly at Shaggy, to which he merely shuffled hurriedly out of the doorway, gesturing toward it apologetically and turning even brighter shade of fuchsia. Jesus, it’d be so endearing, if only he knew what on earth made this guy so painfully embarrassed, like he’d melt into the floor if he had a chance.

Finally he moved, head down, shoulders rounded, and striding purposefully back to his own table, his messy head disappearing below the tops of the wall of washers between them.

When Zach resolved to get up and join him, his heart sank. Shaggy had put in earbuds, the white trailing wire disappearing into his raised hoodie, hunching low over his notebook to write. Universal _Leave Me The Fuck Alone_ signifier if there ever was one. He finished his own wash and got out of there like a bat out of hell, and Zach soon followed, leaving the Wash  & Spin to the collegiate wunderkinds.

 

3am Tuesday, the laundromat was again their own, and Zach took a seat at the table just adjacent to Shaggy’s. He sat so he was obviously in view and facing him, hoping that would make the guy at least a little more receptive to his presence. But as twenty minutes ticked by, all his shy guy did was hunch farther over his notebook, pen in hand and poised, defiantly pretending not to notice Zach noticing that he wasn’t writing a fucking thing, and his face just got more pink, his bottom lip more red as he licked and chewed it mercilessly to a puffy adorable _torturous_ pout.

The buzzer on the washer made him start, immediately jumping up to move it to a dryer, prime the machine with quarters and start it before he swiped his things from the table, walked around the wall of washers, and sat down at Zach’s previously claimed table from the week before. Well away from Zach. Goddammit.

Zach tried to thumb through the possibilities. Maybe he was straight. Maybe he was straight and homophobic, although that seemed sort of unlikely, those types tended to let him know loud and clear. Maybe he was foreign and didn’t speak a lick of English. Maybe Zach just wasn’t his type. Maybe Zach was scarier than he thought he was. Maybe it was a combo of all those things.

Another hour passed, and Shaggy swiftly claimed his clothes from the dryer, stuffing them unfolded into the cloth bag they’d come in, and was out the door in seconds. Zach sat back and sighed in defeat. What the hell would it take just to get the guy’s name? He can’t call him Shaggy all the time. Although he was apparently scared of everything, it was fitting.

His own wash finished, Zach gathered himself to leave and skirted the dividing wall, and noticed the guy had left yet another thing behind. Folded and propped upright in the center of the table was a piece of notebook paper, angled to be visible with three loopy words: _Read Me Zach_.

With shaking hands, Zach retrieved and unfolded it.

_I’m sorry. I’m really bad at talking. I’m Chris._

Written below that was—unbelievably—a phone number, and the words: _Please don’t call, just text. **Please**._ The second ‘please’ was bolded over and underlined three times.

Zach took a minute to have a complete spazz, hopping in place and punching the air before he stopped at the sound of the bell on the door, an elderly woman with a wicker basket cocking an eye at him like he must be certifiable. He grinned dazzlingly at her as he struck out into the early hours with a spring in his step. His name was Chris; beautiful, shaggy haired, blue-eyed, blushy adorable shy sweet Chris, and maybe he was bad at talking, but Zach could work. with. it.


	3. Chapter 3

It was 5am, the sun was just beginning to peek up between the buildings, and Zach said to hell with waiting for a more appropriate time—because anyone who does laundry in the middle of the night must keep bizarre hours like he does, right? So he threw caution to the wind and made his first valiant attempt at contact. Fourth. Whatever.

_hi!_

He waited several seconds, then realized he should probably clarify, _this is zach, from the wash & spin_.

His frozen dinner finished microwaving before there was a reply. _I know._

It was sort of silly how something so anti-climactic could have Zach spinning on his socks through the kitchen in glee.

_so you gave me your number. want to talk?_

This reply was swift. _Not on the phone._

Zach smiled. _i know, you said._

_I’m kind of bad at talking._

_In real time, I mean._

Zach wondered at the insistence about that. There had to be a reason. Maybe Chris had a lisp—which at this point would probably just make him more endearing. Maybe he couldn’t speak at all? That was possible, he supposed. He thought back to each meeting, if Chris had ever spoken a word, if there was any indication of him speaking to anyone. There had been. 

_you had a coffee cup with you, you can’t be too bad if you can order coffee._

It was easily another ten-minute interval before Zach’s phone dinged at him again, long enough that he was starting to lose hope with every bland bite of Lean Cuisine.

_That’s hard too sometimes. I get worse with you. I can’t talk to you._

Zach quirked his brows, and thumbed, _why? yes you can._

_Your really hot._

“Oh my God,” Zach murmured, grinning hard to the kitchen at large with his dick giving a hopeful twitch and his heart doing a tapdance on his diaphragm. Chris liked him! Victory! Then two more texts come in swiftly, one after the other.

_Shit. Sorry._

_Im sorry._

He wiped his hands on his jeans to type out, _you apologize too much. i like you too._

No response, so he tried another.

_I really want to see you again._

There was no reply to that, and after two hours waiting, he gave up. He brushed his teeth, undressed and jerked off in the shower to the thought of that beautiful plush mouth, those wild eyes, imagining all the things he could say to get that blush burning bright.

He checked the phone again as he got into bed, but it was still completely blank.


	4. Chapter 4

The Monday evening crowd at the Cave was always moody and had an air of desperation heading into the work week. Consequently, Zach poured more drinks per head and got tipped less on average, so it was a downer in general, or had been until recently, because tonight (or more accurately tomorrow morning) was laundry night. 

He spent most of his time daydreaming about Chris, imagining him coming into the club, wondering how long it would take him to approach the bar, what that blush would look like in the low light, if he would order from Zach or make a point to order from Steve and just watch him from the sidelines with those soulful eyes pretending not to look.

Zach had tried sending a few more texts throughout the week, unassuming things like _nice weather tonight_ , and once, a selfie in front of a supposedly famous local bagel shop with the comment, _never been here before_. None of them garnered a response.

Obviously Chris was embarrassed about his bold words, perhaps had hit the send button when he’d meant to backspace and erase that statement; it was an easy enough mistake. Not that Zach hadn’t been called ‘really hot’ before (usually in person, usually immediately before, during, or after getting laid), but from Chris and his subsequent apologies and radio silence, it almost felt like an avowal, some profound truth about his inner thoughts he hadn’t meant to let slip. Zach could imagine him slapping his hands over his mouth, pink blossoming over his cheeks.

“Hey you, I asked for a refill!”

Zach sighed, pulling another beer for Demanding Cheap Suit with Terrible Hair. The fact was, it had been a week since he’d gotten any response whatsoever. It was entirely possible Chris regretted ever giving him his number in the first place. Plus, he’d texted with easily eight different acquaintances in the interim, so he’d long since stopped allowing his hopes to climb whenever he felt the vibration of a new message in his pocket.

So when it did, he ignored it for a few minutes until he was in the back, on a run for more limes before he snuck a quick peek at it.

_Are you doing laundry tonight?_

His heart flip-flopped. Chris! He quickly typed back.

_yes ;-)_

_Ok_

Zach did a little dance and added, _it’s a date._

And with that, he threw himself back at the bar with more brilliant smiles for the Monday doldrum circlers.

 

Zach pulled open the door the Wash & Spin with so much exuberance the bell clanged against the glass in his wake. He was early; it was only 2:30, but he couldn’t wait any longer, and he’d nearly gone out the door without his own laundry in his excitement.

Chris’ head popped up from beyond the wall of triple loaders immediately at the sound, and then he stood up, looking… wide-eyed and anxious. Wide-eyed, anxious and _amazing_. He’d actually combed his hair back with some product, looking neat and studious and not quite clean shaven, just scruffy enough to define that jaw even more. He’d given up the heavy shapeless hoodie for a chocolate brown sweater that clung to his torso and arms, which…yes. Just yes: arms, shoulders, everything defined and gorgeous. He obviously worked out, and Zach couldn’t help but appreciate, letting his eyes eat him up as he approached, rounding the wall. Skinny jeans hugging narrow little hips too. _Perfect_.

“Wow,” he said, letting his eyes skate down and back up again, “Look at you.”

Chris blushed, eyes dropping to the floor. He didn’t smile, but his brows pulled together as he lifted his head and licked his lips, eyes darting to Zach’s and quickly off to the side. And then, “I… I th-th-think… I think w—Um.”

Jesus fuck, even his stuttering was cute as hell. And his voice: low, quiet, a little bit raspy—everything made Zach just want him more. He took a couple steps closer, smiling, watching Chris’ eyes come back up, wide and worried. “It’s okay, go on,” he offered.

Chris’ broad shoulders rounded in his sweater as he worked his hands into his tight pockets. “I…Uh. I think we… We, um,” he frowned, biting his lip and going beet red.

“Oh my God, you are so pink,” Zach snickered, coming within reach. Chris backed a step, bumping into the washer behind him and Zach followed, lifting a hand to touch a hot cheek, “Do you always blush like this?”

The adorable thing squeezed his eyes shut, leaning into Zach’s fingers minutely, and Zach gave up on pretense completely.

“Hey,” he purred, bring his other hand up to cup those burning cheeks. When Chris opened his eyes, he smiled encouragingly. “It’s okay. You don’t have to say anything at all.”

He leaned in and kissed Chris, softly at first, and when he made the sweetest whimpery noise, firmer, tongue gently seeking entrance. Chris opened on a gasp, kissing back, his fingers twisting and pulling at Zach’s jacket, closer, and Zach growled into his mouth, pressing forward, tasting coffee and peppermint and…

Chris was breathing kind of fast through his nose, puffing in and out against Zach’s upper lip, and when he pulled away to look, Chris’ chest was heaving and body tensed in a distinctly _not into this_ manner.

“Are you okay?” he asked, concerned.

A swift shake of his head, Chris hands squeezed in Zach’s jacket and released, pushing up through his hair to grab and yank, messing it up from its perfect coiff.

“Hey, calm down,” Zach tried, hand still on Chris’ shoulder, “What’s wrong? I didn’t mean to—”

Chris shook his head again, insistent, biting his lip hard as he gasped heavily, hunching farther into himself.

“I’m sorry,” Zach said, certain now he’d overstepped and completely freaked Chris out, “ I… What do you need? Calm down, okay?”

Fists balling up, Chris shook his head once more, sidestepping him and running away, into the laundromat bathroom and slamming the door.

 _Fuck_. Zach followed, nervously knocking. “Chris? Are you okay?” He tried the handle, knowing it would be locked. “I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have kissed you. That was really douchey of me.”

From inside, he thought he heard a muffled sound, more whimpers. A sob.

“Jesus,” he muttered to himself, feeling like a complete slimeball. He’d scared the poor guy into crying in a bathroom. He knew people found him intense, sometimes came on too strong, but he’d never gotten this reaction before, certainly not from someone who seemed to be into him.

He shifted from one foot to the other, wondering what he should do. Should he leave? No, he was a little too worried for that. But if he stayed, he could just imagine what would happen if and when Chris emerged. No words, no eye contact, just taking his things and fleeing without a word, like all the previous times. 

With a sigh, Zach went back to push his own laundry into a machine, set it and sat down at Chris’ table to wait. His backback was there, no notebook this time, unless it was inside. Of course, Zach had called this a date, then Chris wouldn’t occupy himself the notebook like he had before, would he? 

He frowned. How come Chris seemed to want this, or some kind of relationship at least, but reacted like that? Zach had known shy guys before—hell, it was practically a prerequisite for his interest, he loved the sweet, submissive ones—but most of them came around pretty easily.

When Chris’ washer dinged its cycle completion, Zach considered approaching the bathroom door again, but thought the better of it and just shifted Chris’ clothes into a dryer himself.

Fifteen minutes after Chris had shut himself in, an old woman—the same one he’d seen before—came in and went about her washing. Zach sighed, moving his own clothes into a dryer.

Coming back toward the table, he saw something on the floor next to a chair leg. Bending to retrieve it, he flipped it over in his hand. It was a blue index card, three by five, like he used to study when he was a little kid, covered with Chris’ loopy handwriting.

> You say: I think we got off on the wrong foot ~~here~~. I’m Chris. You’re Zach. *handshake* So, this is cliché right? Meeting at a laundromat?
> 
> If he says yes  
>  — Kind of like a romcom. Hopefully a witty one.
> 
> If he says no  
>  — No? Well, maybe we should go somewhere more romantic?  
> 
> 
> Make conversation. Use your vocab. DON’T PANIC!!!

“Oh you sweetheart,” Zach breathed, feeling his own face go red. Chris had written himself a script. Zach had proclaimed this meeting a date and gotten him all nervous. Poor Chris had an idea in his head of how this was supposed to go, had _tried so hard_ to do it right, and then Zach had railroaded right over it, skipped to the end and spooked him near half to death.

Warily, he approached the bathroom, rapping lightly and throwing a look back at the old woman at the front. “Chris?” he called softly through the door, “Hey, your laundry is almost done. I finished it for you.”

Listening, he couldn’t hear anything, but then there was a scrape, and maybe a snivel. Zach’s heart panged. “Listen… I’m really sorry, okay?” He looked down at the card in his hand again. “I think we got off on the wrong foot here.”

He heard another shift, maybe closer to the other side of the door. He pressed his forehead to the door and sighed. “Okay. I’m going to go. I hope you’re okay in there. I’m sorry. ”

With a heavy heart, he gathered his things, tucked the index card into his pocket, and left.


	5. Chapter 5

Chris was not at the Wash & Spin the following Tuesday night, or the next after that. Of course he wasn’t, Zach had terrorized him. He’d probably decided to come on a different night entirely, or even a different time, just to be sure he never ran into Zach ever again.

Not that Zach would blame him. It was obvious he’d misread the entire situation. He didn’t know what made Chris so shy, so completely frightened, but Zach had been in the wrong to just assume the guy was even interested in him, much less wanted to be kissed in the middle of a public laundromat, deserted or not. Maybe he had some kind of traumatic background. Hell, anything could have happened to him. It just made Zach feel positive he was a gigantic asshole.

So he’d spent the last two weeks staring at his and Chris’ previous texts, and typing out several new ones (mostly variations on _I’m so sorry_ and _I’m a total asshole_ ) before he simply erased them and resolved to leave Chris alone.

He pushed his wash into a machine on another Tuesday night, loaded it with quarters and set it, staring listlessly around the laundromat. The college kids were back, decidedly quieter than the previous time and bent over their books and laptops with coffee and energy drinks on the table, sans female distraction—it must be exam week.

It was silly for him to even look over at Chris’ usual table, searching for any ghost of his presence since he’d been absent the last two weeks, but Zach still did it, probably some morbid sense of self-loathing.

He did not expect to find evidence Chris still came here.

Under the foot of Chris’ table was another blue index card, folded over as if it was propping up an uneven leg. It had not been there last week, Zach was certain. He had stuck around well passed 5am hoping to see Chris and apologize again, and he’d watched a middle-aged woman come in and scour the entire place with both surprising speed and accuracy. There was no way she’d missed this.

Heart in his throat, he crouched to slide the card out and unfold it. The hand writing was unmistakable.

_Go to the corner diner. Tell them your name, they have something for you. ~C_

Zach pressed his knuckles to his mouth, hope blossoming in his chest. Was Chris trying to connect again? Maybe he didn’t completely hate Zach? He nearly bolted out the door, long strides taking him to the all-night diner down the block and storming in on a mission.

“Hey!” he said to the first waitress he saw. “I’m Zach? Did someone leave something for me?”

“Ah, so you’re the one!” she said, looking him up and down as she turned, “That sweet young man came in here again the other night to see if you’d picked it up. Saddest thing I ever saw, him trying to tell me your name. Took him a good five minutes to spit it out.”

She shuffled around behind the counter, searching through drawers and bins. “Now, where’d I put it…”

 _If you lost it I’ll kill you,_ Zach thought, as she continued picking through things, asking the other lone server on shift and then finally going back to the office.

“Here we are,” she finally returned, waving an envelope. “‘Zach with the eyebrows’ it says. Gotta be you.”

“Yeah, that’s me,” he laughed, feeling a blush fire his own cheeks to see that in Chris’ handwriting. He clutched the thing in his hands like it was something precious.

“You want a coffee?” the waitress asked, pointedly. 

“Decaf?” he asked, “To go.”

He resolved not to open the letter until he returned to the laundromat, coffee cup in hand, moved his loads of wash to a dryer, glared at the college dudebro’s bitching about something or another, and then sat himself down at Chris’ table in relative privacy with the envelope before him.

He laughed at himself, watching his hands shake. He was scared to open it at this point. After all, why wouldn’t Chris just text him? Why would he leave a damn scavenger hunt? Maybe he’d deleted his number, or blocked it, more likely. It could tell him never to contact him again or he’d go to the cops. It could say anything.

Taking a deep breath and letting it out, he slid his thumb along the seam of the envelope, pulled out the sheets of paper with Chris’ felt-tip bleeding through, and unfolded them to read.

 

_Hey, it’s Chris, obviously. Sorry for the run around. I didn’t want to leave something personal like this at the Wash & Spin for anyone to find._

_So here’s the thing. I have this problem, and it’s ~~fucki~~ a really embarrassing problem, especially for someone my age and with my expectations and abilities. I have an anxiety disorder. I have a hard time talking to people like a human. Even if I want to. It freaks me out._

_My therapist calls it an ‘extreme case’ of sociophobia. She says the only way for me to get over it is to get used to it, go out and face it, which is easier said than done. She’s making me to do this ‘cognitive behavior therapy’. Exposure, basically, to the things that trigger me. People, namely. So she makes me go out ask someone I find intimidating some asinine thing and try to get through it without having a panic attack. So every day, I have to ask some regular Joe how to get to the library, which I already know how to get to, or I have to go out and order a coffee, and I have to try not to run away. Sometimes I do. It’s absolutely humiliating._

_I told her about you. About what happened and how I made a total ass of myself and ran away and that you probably hate me. She says dating would be good for me, if I could give it a try. I don’t know if I could get through hello._

_She said to write you a letter and put everything into my own words to try to explain, so this is it._

_I’m really sorry for the way I behaved. I’m sorry you had to see that, I’m sure it was completely off-putting and stupid and you’re probably so over it at this point that you won’t even read this, but I just want you to know. It wasn’t you. I’m just a ~~fucking~~ mess. I’m sorry I curse a lot, but I’ve written this like eight times and I just need to get this out._

_You are… incredibly ~~handsom~~ ~~attractive~~ ~~goodlok~~ gorgeous. I get so much worse with people I’m attracted to, and that’s not your fault. The first time I saw you I could hardly breathe. Then you started talking to me and I could smell your cologne or soap and you were trying to give me quarters, and I just freaked out. I’m sorry I did that. I wish I didn’t. I just didn’t know how to respond, I couldn’t find the words. I know you didn’t mean to set me off last time either. I know you were trying to help. I just can’t stop it once it starts, I have to ride it out. And it’s mortifying to be a grown man crying and hyperventilating in public, trust me._

_In my head, I’m this suave, slick-talking Casanova who goes into your club and orders something manly and says all the right things and sweeps you off your feet, but instead I walk by every night wondering if your in there, and if I could string three words together more eloquently than a toddler for once in my fucking life. I hate that I do this, that it’s gotten this bad. I have a BFA in English and I can quote Goethe for memory, as long as no one is around to ~~here~~ hear me._

_I wish I could talk to you. Not on text messages or like this. In person. Face to face. I don’t know how to do that without losing ~~my shi~~ it. So yes, I think we did get off on the wrong foot, from the beginning, and that’s on me. I’m pretty sure I have two left feet, and I suck at dancing._

_We should start over. Text me when you get this, if you want to. If you’re not done with me and my special snowflake problems._

_I really want to kiss you again._


	6. Chapter 6

_i got your letter._ Zach sent the text, settling himself into bed with the black-out curtains drawn against the rising morning sun.

He’d spent the last few hours googling, and discovered a whole world he was unfamiliar with. Zach was an extrovert by his very nature, he liked to talk, liked surrounding himself with friends, loved parties and meeting new people. In the past, people who weren’t very communicative had never been compelling; he’d just assumed they were stuck-up or completely uninterested and thus not worth his time. He had no idea there could be anything behind that, that some people just operated on a different wavelength entirely. Some to an extreme.

He’d read dozens of articles ( _Ten Things Not to Say to People with Social Anxiety, How To Befriend A Wallflower, In Their Own Words: Social Anxiety Disorder_ ) before he sat back, a little alarmed. Most of these were aimed at people who were maybe a little socially awkward at a party, not those who would never in a million years show up to one. Chris appeared to be one or two steps from shutting himself in completely. This was how people became recluses, homebound and distrustful of anything outside their own bricked-in walls. It seemed like too much work, trying to get Chris to open up and let him in. Would it even be worth it?

In the two months since he’d moved to this city, he’d made acquaintances, but few who seemed to have any real staying power like his old group of friends back home. He’d met a couple of guys at the bar, had gone home with one or two, but they held no real interest for him beyond a casual lay. He didn’t even realize he was looking for more than that until now.

Zach was fiercely lonely. It had never occurred to him before that people like Chris could also be lonely, that even as he deliberately avoided attention, he also desperately craved it. He had tried to reach out, despite what the websites called a fear of pity or hate or some other personal failing, he tried to find words on their disastrous date and panicked. Then, even though Zach had done exactly what people with this disorder feared and ignored him, Chris had tried one more time, with his words written out, earnest and heartfelt, so they wouldn’t fail him another time.

His phone dinged up at him. A simple _Ok,_ was Chris’ reply. Zach gave a short breathe of amusement, already somewhat familiar with Chris’ careful, nondescript approach, putting the ball in his court. He’d read the letter, and he’d taken himself for a crash course on what he was getting into. Did he really want to go any further, to put in the effort?

He looked back at the second page of the letter, spread out on his bedspread. _I really want to kiss you again_ , its last line jumped out at him, as it did every time he’d reread it.

_i want to try this again,_ he typed out.

The reply took a couple of minutes. _:D -- my face._

Zach laughed, wondering what Chris smiling would look like. _what do you need from me?_ he sent back. 

The response was awhile coming, and Zach had fallen back on his pillows, remembering that short-lived kiss. 

_Just you. And some time to find my voice._


	7. Chapter 7

Patience was never Zach’s strong suit. When he was a kid, the fact that his birthday and Christmas were roughly equidistant should have taught him to be grateful, since many other kids had to wait even longer, and anyway, it wasn’t about presents to begin with—at least according to his mom and the school teachers. Yay for Catholic upbringing; about all he’d ever taken from that was the guilt and drive to apologize only after his sins were committed. Enter sweet angel-faced Chris with a barrel of apples, stage left.

Chris needed time, in which Zach presumed he was psyching himself up to face him in person again, when all Zach wanted to do was ask questions, learn all about him, kiss him, get him in bed. He’d gotten pretty used to a fuck first, talk later MO. Now he wasn’t even sure what sorts of questions he could pose without pushing the wrong buttons and driving him away. 

They’d resolved to meet again at the Wash & Spin, same time as usual, and the week prior was dragging ass. He’d at least established that Chris kept similar hours, so Zach didn’t feel like he was pushing too many boundaries when he texted Chris in the interim, even the most mundane things like photos of a dog he saw while out and about, or asking his opinion of a sweater ( _Hey do you think this will shrink in the wash?_ ). That Chris texted back more than half of the time he counted as a win.

After putting everything he could find into his hamper, dish towels and bath mat included, he lay in bed on Monday morning and stared at the open chat window on his phone. Because bullshitting was fine, but it didn’t actually get him anywhere in understanding how to approach tomorrow.

_can I ask you something weird? kind of personal._

_Ok_

_are you afraid of me?_

The answer was so long in coming Zach didn’t think he’d get one. 

_Not of you. Its complicated._

Zach huffed in annoyance. _how?_

_Sorry._

_don’t be sorry, just try to explain it._

_I’m afraid of me. When your around me._

_how so?_

_I want to say and do stuff right. Its hard to put it in order when you’re right there. I don’t want to panic. Like before. When you touch me._

_And I want you to touch me, Zach._

Exhaling in relief, Zach could feel his own heart pounding as he typed back, _okay. i want to touch you too._

_It sucks. I’m sorry. I don’t want it this way._

_yeah, I know._

_This is lame, but. Take it slow?_

Zach smiled. He hadn’t taken that romance driven approach in ages. Years. Ever maybe. _glaciers? evolution._

_Haha_

_this week, til I get to see your beautiful face again_

That took another several minutes to get a reply. An awkwardly framed photo of part of that face, one bright blue eye and shaggy hair tumbling against a blue background, cheek red as a tomato, but smiling.


	8. Chapter 8

Zach tapped his fingers at Chris’ usual table, and his feet beneath it. He’d been at the laundromat for fifteen minutes, and Chris still wasn’t here. Granted he’d been ridiculously early, and had even delayed to get a coffee—which was a stupid idea because he’d gone thinking to get one for Chris, only to realize he didn’t know how he’d take it. He’d already put his own load of wash in and it wouldn’t be too long before it finished.

He had to face the very real possibility that Chris would stand him up.

Rationally, with the info that Zach now understood, it wouldn’t even be on him. It could be that Chris froze up, chickened out and was riding a panic attack as he sat there. It could be that something else came up (at three in the morning). It could be that Chris wised up and decided this was the most unlikely of relationships to ever be attempted, and quit while he was ahead.

The washer dinged its cycle completion. Twenty-five minutes gone and Zach’s ego was a fragile thing. Maybe they had something in common.

He rolled his cart resignedly to a dryer, thrusting the clothes in with more force than necessary, dropping several on the floor with a damp slump. As he bent to retrieve them, a pair of brown shoes and a handful of quarters appeared under his nose.

Zach looked up to see Chris blushing furiously at the floor, his hair disheveled and lip bitten. Fuck. All was forgiven.

“I have enough,” he said, digging in his own pocket for change, but Chris just stepped forward and pushed the quarters into Zach’s dryer himself, glancing at him before he dumped his backpack on the table and went to start his own laundry.

Hovering for a moment, Zach strode back over to the table to sit, watching the shift of Chris’ broad shoulders, cutting down under his hoodie to narrow hips and an ass that Zach would be on in a heartbeat were it attached to someone who would appreciate a direct approach.

Wicker Basket Woman came in with a jingle of the bell, and Zach realized he’d been so far up his own ass he hadn’t even heard it when Chris had arrived.

Adding powder, Chris closed the lid and pushed in his quarters. As he leaned on the machine when it started up, Zach could already see his shoulders hunching, the tremble in his hands, hear the shudder in his breath.

“Chris, it’s—” he started, but Chris was already shaking his head and moving swiftly to the bathroom, shutting himself in.

Zach flinched. They seemed to be oh-for-six at this point, or whatever the count was now. He had no idea what he’d done this time. Refusing the quarters? Speaking? Maybe this was a bad idea. Maybe he really should just let it go. Let Chris go.

His phone chirped in his pocket, and he absently dug it out.

_I’m so sorry._

Zach looked over at the closed bathroom door. In his head he could almost see Chris sitting behind it with his phone in his hand.

_okay._

_I fucked this up already I’m sorry_.

_no you didn’t._

_I did. I was so late and I suck so much._

_you didn’t have to give me quarters because you were late,_ he thumbed out.

_I owed you. From before._

Zach bit his own lip. _you don’t suck. i’m still out here. i still want to be out here._

There was no answer to that. Zach watched Wicker Woman load up her own machine, throwing him a scowl over the wall of washers separating them.

_is it okay if i’m still out here?_

_Yeah._

_but wicker woman is too._

_I barely noticed her._

Zach tapped his feet again nervously. _what did I do to set you off?_

_Nothing. It wasn’t you. I freaked out before I even left home._

_I made myself come cuz you said you wanted to see me._

_And I wanted to see you too._

Zach sighed, mopping his own face. He wanted nothing more than to break the bathroom door down and hold him. But Chris was replying, at the very least.

_are you okay in there? are you really bad right now?_

This took a minute’s time for a response. _Worst is over. I just need a minute. Please don’t leave._

Zach smiled, suddenly wondering where these reserves of patience came from. _i’ll wait all night. we’ll just sit here together, okay? when you’re ready._

In a few minutes less than Zach even anticipated, the bathroom door quietly opened, and Chris emerged. He took a deep breath, wrung his hands a little, and without looking up from the floor, walked over to the table and sat down. He kept his eyes on his backpack, except to carefully glance Zach’s way peripherally.

Letting out a deep breath of his own, Zach realized how tense he’d been in the whole exchange. Setting his phone upright on the table, their texts still open, he rested his head on his folded arms beside it, peeking up to smile at Chris in relief.

Chris gnawed at his lip, putting his own phone on the table. His hair was a spiky mess and though the blush had faded a little, his face was still pink.

Zach lifted a hand to type quickly and hit send, feeling it vibrate to Chris’ phone a foot away on the surface of the table. 

_god you’re cute_

Chris pressed his lips together against a smile, but it cracked though, and just for a second, _oh_. What a heartbeat of joy before he put his own face down on his arms to hide it.

Zach giggled and typed, _like the sun just came out. we’re doing this._


	9. Chapter 9

Any date that consisted of sitting with someone in a laundromat for an hour and a half in relative silence after one party had been late and suffered a freakout would, in any other context, be a catastrophic failure. Zach didn’t go on a hell of a lot of what most people considered dates, but he could guess that if he were to describe it to someone, they’d cringe and pat his knee in sympathy. And yet, in his opinion it was a resounding success.

Because yeah, they had been mostly silent. Chris couldn’t seem to utter a word, so Zach didn’t try too hard to make him. They had spent portions of it shifting loads of clothes and folding—Chris favored henleys, threadbare tees, and low-rise briefs in dark colors, yes thank you Lord. But by the end of it, Chris was managing to make eye contact for more than half a second and not hiding his nervous smiles at least fifty percent of the time. Which was a fucking triumph, because that smile was _deadly_ , and after getting it aimed at him, Zach was officially beyond recovery. By the end of the night (morning), he knew he was completely fucked, and there was no going back.

 _i can’t wait to see you again,_ he texted from work the following night, not even bothering to make a lime run. They’d made no official plans to meet outside of the laundromat, but Zach was willing to leave it to the Wash  & Spin if that was what made Chris comfortable.

 _Me either_ , his phone pinged a few minutes later, putting a grin on his face for the rest of his shift. He spent most of the evening serving drinks in a daze, all thoughts of Chris in the bright laundromat lights, his red apple cheeks, his restless hands. He’d tugged at his hair, rubbed his palms down his jean-clad thighs, his arms, his shoulders under the shirt from the collar; it was never-ending class-A torture and Zach would have watched happily until he died of spontaneous combustion. Once the bar lights went up and they pushed stragglers out the door, Zach counted down his drawer and helped clean up, shrugging into his coat and striding out the door at two AM feeling lighter than air, his head full of Chris’ beautiful face.

And then there it was, in the flesh.

Chris stood across the street from the Cave, illuminated by a light post and looking surprisingly confident as Zach met his eyes and did a double-take.

It didn’t last though. Chris soon ducked his head, smiling down to his shoes and unfolded his arms to shove his hands in his pockets, and then with a meaningful glance, started walking up the street to the crosswalk. Zach mirrored him on his side, keeping his eyes on him until Chris had jogged across the avenue and stopped a few feet in front of him.

“Hey,” Zach tried, offering a smile. “Fancy meeting you here.”

Chris smiled wide at the pavement, briefly, before it melted to lip gnawing and he spun on his heel, walking a few paces and then turning to see if Zach followed.

Which he did, cautiously. Okay. If Chris wanted to walk, they’d walk. This was unprecedented and Zach would go along with whatever happened.

A block went by before Chris lifted his head, looking directly at him. “Hi,” he said, voice hoarse, as if he’d just remembered that he hadn’t said it.

Zach breathed a laugh, “Hi.”

Chris grinned, a bounce in his step as though thrilled he’d managed a greeting. Zach wanted to fucking hug him. Wanted to catch his hand (hidden in a pocket) and swing it between them. Push him against a building and kiss him.

When he realized they were making their toward the Wash & Spin, Zach started considering, would they simply sit there without an excuse? Would anyone care, no loitering or not? But as they reached it, Chris strode on past, a quick glance at Zach as he headed on, down to the all-night diner on the corner.

He pulled open the door for Zach, shyly peeking up from under his hair, and then followed him in.

“Hey there, boys!” the waitress called. Chris shuffled down the row of booths to the farthest one by the window (and closest to the bathroom, Zach noticed), taking the seat with his back against a wall. Zach scooted in on the opposite side, watching Chris fidget for a moment before he reached over to the condiment rack to pull out a couple of menus.

“Coffee?” the waitress came over, already setting down two mugs and pouring.

Zach glanced at Chris, now rubbing a hand over his hair and answered, “Sure, thanks.”

“I know he wants cream and sugar,” the woman—the tag on her apron dubbed her Darcy—said with a nod at Chris, who flushed. “How ‘bout you? Zach, was it?”

“With the eyebrows,” Zach smiled that she remembered, “Just sugar.”

“Mm, dark and sweet,” she winked at him, turning away to fetch it.

Chris twitched in a way that said he was bouncing his leg up and down beneath the table, biting his lip. Zach slowly pushed one of the menus across to him, and Chris took it, seeming grateful to occupy his hands. Momentarily, Darcy was back with a bowl of creamers. “Know what you’d like?”

Zach glanced at her and then quickly down at the menu. “Um.”

“He wants blueberry pancakes, I bet,” she says, nodding again at Chris, who reddened further, “Gets ‘em nine times out of ten. They’re good though, right, sweetie?”

Chris frowned and wrung his hands, nodding tightly. 

“And you?”

Zach glanced at the menu again. Darcy was a clearly a career waitress, made her living by pushing tables in and out. He’d been there and done that, but she was kind of pushy. It was the dead of night and the place was nearly deserted, what’s the rush? “Um,” he picked at random, “Just a cinnamon roll.”

“Right up, kiddos,” she said and strode away again. Chris let out the breath he’d been holding, looking a little ruffled as he stuffed the menus back behind the ketchup and napkins. Cautiously, Zach reached across and gently laid a hand over Chris’ on the table.

Chris went still, staring at their hands. 

“Does she always decide what you want?” he asked, and Chris nodded sourly. He remembered when he’d come here to get Chris’ letter. _’Took him a good five minutes to spit it out’_.

“I could call her back, tell her you wanted something else,” he pulled the menu up again.

Chris shook his head, gritting his teeth and pulling his hand away, into his lap, then up with the other into his hair to grip.

“Okay,” Zach whispered. He could tell Chris was frustrated and getting more agitated by the minute. He even knew why, the guy just wanted to find his voice and be allowed to use it. Zach just didn’t have a fucking clue how to help.

Chris had come out, way out of his comfort zone, waited for Zach at work, obviously intended to bring him here to have a midnight snack together. Zach would salvage it if at all possible.

“Okay,” he repeated, reaching for a couple of packets of sugar, holding them tentatively out.

Chris took them, again thankful to be given something for his fingers to tackle. He tore them open and emptied them and a cream into the cup as Zach took another for himself and doctored his own coffee. They drank in silence, Zach watching Chris’ fingers take each emptied sugar packet and fold them into as many halves as possible. Eventually, he noticed Zach watching and abandoned his little folded soldiers, squeezing his hands to fists, brows peaking together worriedly as he frowned.

Zach just shook his head and smiled, picking up a piece of the paper, “I don’t mind.”

That earned him half a smile, but it disappeared as soon as Darcy shuffled over with their order. “Blueberry pancakes and a cinnamon roll, boys. Anything else?”

This time she actually paused and looked at Chris pointedly with her hands on his hips, waiting. He flushed red, staring at the plate in front of him, and took a deep breath, choking out, “No. Thanks.”

Zach quietly said the same, and she finally went away. Chris exhaled and stared at the pancakes, breathing a bit hard. That Zach recognized from before, and he heard Darcy’s shoes, clipping over yet again. “You’re extra quiet today honey. Everything good?” she hovered.

“Yes, thank you,” Zach snapped, then looked up at her with a false smile, trying to contain the _could you just fuck off_ he wanted to say, “We’ll be fine for a while, thanks.” 

When she was gone again, Chris had closed his eyes, breathing in and out. For a second Zach wondered alarmingly if he was saying Grace and he’d missed an ingrained cue he never bothered about anymore unless he was at his mom’s house, before he realized it was a just breathing exercise. Chris was really, really trying to get through this. He waited, pulling a bit off of his cinnamon roll. Eventually Chris reached for his fork and used it to spread the scoop of butter around on the cakes, though he looked like he’d lost his appetite.

“Hey,” he whispered, catching Chris eyes for half a second, and smiled softly. “I think you’re doing really great.”

Chris gasped a breath in, like he was stunned, and grinned brightly at the pancakes. Zach felt his own face break into a thrilled smile of his own. God, that was just gorgeous.

They ate in silence, but a comfortable one. Zach finished off his cinnamon roll before realizing Chris hadn’t eaten more than a third of the pancakes. But that was fine, maybe he was self-conscious about eating in front of him, the way he keep checking his lap and shirt, and wiping his mouth with his napkin even when he hadn’t taken a bite. They could work on that too. Chris had come out, surprised him at the end of his shift and taken him out to eat. He even pulled out a twenty to pay before Darcy had a chance to bring the ticket, and Zach decided to spare him the traditional argument for the sake of keeping things going well. 

They headed out, Chris walking back in the direction they’d come before turning off down another block, then another, glancing up with a few small smiles before he stopped at the entrance of an apartment building.

“You live here?” Zach asked, and Chris shyly nodded.

Looking around at the streets between, Zach pointed, “I only live… just down that way a block or two. Not far.”

Chris smiled, shuffling his feet. He turned to unlock the main door, holding it open and looking back.

Zach raised his eyebrows, “You want me to come up?” Biting his lip, Chris fidgeted and nearly frowned, second guessing as he darted a look at Zach again. Not about to waste this opportunity, Zach shrugged and went inside, following Chris up two flights and down the hall to his door. Sticking his key in and struggling with it, he finally pushed the door open to a small but reasonably tidy living area with a large desk as the major furnishing, a kitchenette and through a doorway, a darkened bedroom and bathroom. 

Chris put his keys in a bowl on the counter beside a pile of mail, turning and looking extremely nervous. 

“I like it,” Zach offered, taking a few more steps closer. Chris already had his back to the countertop, so he didn’t dare to push him further. “I had a good time.”

Chris flushed and looked down between them, embarrassed. And whatever, so he’d had some mishaps. He’d pushed himself way beyond tonight, successfully. Zach let out a deep breath and looked down himself, seeing Chris glance up. Carefully, he reached across to take Chris’ hand and just hold it.

Exhaling through his nose, Chris stared at their hands, watching Zach’s thumb gently rub back and forth over the knuckle of his own. Zach was close enough to see little freckles on his face, the fan of eyelashes on his cheeks, smell the clean, lightly oakey scent of him. “Chris,” he bit his own lip and whispered, “I really want to kiss you.” He saw Chris take a breath, chest rising, and clarified, “Is that okay? Just… just a little one.”

Chris lifted his head to look at Zach—at Zach’s mouth, and the longing there was palpable. 

“Can I—”

Before he could finish, Chris was kissing him. His hand pulled from Zach’s own to join the other at the back of his neck, and Zach gave a muffled groan, stumbling slightly back under the force of it. This was a little more kissing than he meant but who the fuck cared, tasting sweet maple and berry and coffee and Chris. He brought his hands up to Chris’ waist and then around, pulling them fully together. 

Chris broke with a high-pitched sound in his throat, his breath coming hard, hiding his face in Zach’s neck, fingers clutching the shoulders of Zach’s shirt. Zach held him close, a little breathless himself, full of joy and desire and need, but then he felt Chris shake his head, felt his hands slide down.

“No,” Chris gasped into the collar of Zach’s shirt, breaths coming shorter and faster. “Aw fuck no no no.”

Zach stepped back, “You okay?”

Fists letting go of Zach’s shirt, Chris shook his head, looking distraught and pissed off. “No,” his voice was ragged, but stronger than ever. He sucked in breath rapidly and then tried to hold it, bumping back against the cupboards.

Zach held his hands out to steady him, but was at a complete loss. “Chris? What do you need? Calm down. Just relax.”

Chris shook his head violently and then abruptly froze and straightened up, his eyes wide, face going ashen. And then he bolted, around Zach and to the bathroom.

“Fuck!” Zach growled through his teeth, approaching the door to the obvious sound of puking. His own stomach gave an unpleasant lurch. He strode away to the kitchen and then back, leaning on the doorframe and willing himself to listen until he heard the toilet flush, a groan, labored breathing, and the faucet running.

“Chris?” he called softly, “I’m sorry.”

No answer but the sound of something clattering to the floor, a muffled sob. Crying again, perfect.

He tried to think back to what he’d done, all the things he’d done the first time he’d freaked Chris out this way. He’d pushed him too far. Suddenly he remembered how Darcy the waitress had said Chris was extra quiet today, as if she was used to him talking more. Chris could order a coffee and ask a stranger for directions, he could write eloquently and even text with some ease, but he could barely utter a word in front of Zach. _I get worse with you. I can’t talk to you._

It was Zach. Zach himself was the catalyst. He was the problem. Fuck.

“Chris, I’m sorry. I’ll go away, okay? You’ll be better if I leave.”

He heard a thump on the other side of the door, and pushed off of it. “I’m so sorry.”

With a lump in his throat and the sweet taste of Chris still on his tongue, he left, making sure the apartment door was secure behind him.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I'm not a psychologist, but I am a socially awkward person who struggles with this stuff (though not to Chris' extreme). This chapter might be somewhat handwavey.

It was probably for the best. If Zach set Chris off so badly, there was no good reason to pursue this. Chris himself had said it was mortifying, humiliating, that he hated it. The best way to help Chris, then, was to let him go.

Which didn’t explain why Zach kept looking across the street leaving work as each night went by, hoping to see that face in the streetlight again. It didn’t stop him from rereading all of their texts, and from staring at the loopy writing of Chris’ letter. It didn’t explain how he found himself at the diner asking Darcy if she’d seen Chris since that night—“I haven’t,” she’d fretted, “That poor sweet boy, so shy. You can’t help fuss over him.”

He wiped the bar down and looked out across the crowd, thinking that maybe he ought to make a stab at the other acquaintances he’d made since he moved here, maybe take Steve up on going out with his group of friends tomorrow. Maybe he should stop fielding the come-ons he got here at work; a few of them seemed nice enough. Maybe he could meet somebody to take his mind off things, take his mind off the phone in his pocket, and that he didn’t want to push where he wasn’t wanted.

“You want another?” he asked the woman nursing a G&T at his corner. The Cave didn’t seem like her style and she’d been eyeballing him for easily the last forty-five minutes, so he really hoped he wasn’t going to have to state the obvious.

“Yeah, but not here,” she returned.

He closed his eyes and smiled, raking his hand through his hair, “Oh. You know, I’m really flattered but—”

She laughed over his words, “Wow okay, no wonder Chris is a disaster.”

At his gaping, she swallowed the rest of her drink and said, “Look, I came here to see what the big deal was. This is a gay bar, I’m out of place, and I’m probably way overstepping my personal and professional bounds here. You make a good gin and tonic, by the way.”

“I… what?” Zach blurted. “You know Chris?”

“I know Chris,” she confirmed. “I also know he knows you, and I know about the other night, and the laundromat, and you’re probably completely frustrated with everything. Honestly, I’m surprised you didn’t say yes to the last guy who hit on you. He was cute as hell.”

Zach stared. “Okay, I’m sorry, I’m confused. How do you know about me and—?” he blinked for a second, putting together what little information he had in his head, “Oh my God, are you his therapist?”

“If only,” she sighed, “Actually no, she at least gets to leave him to the office most of the time. Look, I don’t usually keep these kind of hours. Are you free in the morning around six? There’s a café on Wilmington and 10th.” She pulled a business card out of her purse, along with her wallet to pay for the drink.

“To talk about Chris,” he asked, perturbed.

“To talk about you,” she corrected, handing over the card and standing up, “And my brother.”

 

 

Just after sun-up, Zach waited at the café on Wilmington. It was the end of his day, and he literally had no idea what to expect here, meeting this woman. Chris’ sister? His sister, apparently.

 _Katherine Pine, MA, LPC, Family and Individual Psychology_ , said the business card in his hand. So she was a shrink. Or a therapist, to be more PC, he supposed. But she was also Chris’ sister? This could not get any weirder.

When she suddenly dropped into the chair across from him with little announcement and coffee in hand, he jumped a bit, straightening up and getting a look at her in broad daylight. She didn’t resemble Chris particularly, but he supposed some people didn’t look quite as similar to their siblings as he and his own brother did. Some people looked like one parent more than the other. Hell, some people were adopted, he knew next to nothing about it.

She took a long sip of her coffee, and looked across at him. “So. Zach.”

He darted a look down at the card again, “Katherine.”

“Katie,” she insisted. If nothing else, she was Chris’ polar opposite. Direct, assertive. A little intimidating, really. “Chris has told me a lot about you and I still don’t know anything.”

“I guess that makes two of us,” he wavered as she seemed to study him. “This is weird.”

She smiled, and there was perhaps a hint of Chris there. “It is. I debated quite a bit about doing this, I admit. It’s out of my comfort zone, but he is my brother, so.”

Zach nodded, but frowned, “Doing what, exactly?”

“First, tell me about you,” she said, dodging the question. “Who are you?”

Zach opened and closed his mouth, eyes wide. “Um. I’m Zach. Quinto. I’m from Pittsburgh, I moved here two months ago. I tend bar. I like dogs. I don’t have a criminal record,” he added, scrubbing the back of his neck. “I’m just a normal guy.”

“You met my brother at a laundromat,” she said, still scrutinizing. “What led to this?”

He gestured vaguely, “I met him at a laundromat, offered him fifty cents and… got myself into a big mess?”

She smiled again and asked, “Why?”

Zach fidgeted under the scrutiny. “I’m not sure what you want me to say.”

“Why him? You’re a good-looking guy. I saw a dozen guys vying for your attention in your bar last night,” she told him, “You turned every one of them down and kept checking your phone. Either you’ve already got someone on the hook—”

“No,” he shook his head quickly, “There’s no one else.”

“—or, you’re deep enough in this that you’re willing to chase. And Chris runs,” she told him a worry line between her manicured brows. “He runs, and then he lets you get real close and he runs again. Eventually, most people get tired of his shit, so I’m just telling you, you might want to quit while you’re ahead.”

Zach considered that. Had been considering it, up until she’d shown up. “Why do I get the feeling you don’t want me to?”

“Why do I get the feeling you don’t want to?” she retorted. “Why Chris? What do you see in him?”

“I don’t know,” he lifted his shoulders, gazing off in thought, “He’s… interesting. He’s mysterious.” He rubbed a hand through his hair and gave a bashful grin, “He’s fucking adorable.”

Katie rolled her eyes skyward, giving him that.

“And I mean, he’s… he made it seem like he’s interested in me? He _is_ interested, I doubt he’d—I feel like there’s something there. Something really good, if we could just…” He darted a cautious look up at her, a little embarrassed, “I’m sorry. This is your brother, and you don’t even know me.”

She smiled back, “Yeah. And you’re the closest he’s come to progress in years.”

Zach studied her in confusion. “I’m sorry, you’re his sister, and you’re a psychologist. Isn’t that sort of…”

“You apologize a lot,” she grinned tightly, “So does he. It’s a nervous tic.” She took a deep breath, looking around. “I am a psychologist, yes. So’s our mom, by the way. Chris sees it as a personal failing to us, but it doesn’t mean anything in the long run, we’re just as screwed up as everyone else. Nobody’s perfect. Nobody’s normal.”

“So are you…?”

“I’m not his therapist, that would be breaking protocols. His therapist is a good friend of mine though, and believe me, it was enough of a chore just to get him to a point where he could talk to her. I don’t have access to her case on him, but he calls me more than enough to make up for it. And since he met you, it’s been a lot. It’s a problem. Hence, why I’m here.”

“Okay,” Zach frowned, “Why are you here?”

She took a sip of her coffee and drilled him with a look. “To figure out where you’re at with this. Chris isn’t easy to deal with. If you want easy, you’re better off sticking to the guys in your bar.”

“I don’t supposed saying I’ve been there and done that helps,” he laughed with a lopsided grin. “They are easy. And they aren’t what I want.”

“What do you want?”

He thinks of Chris, and of something he hasn’t had in a long time, maybe ever. “I want something real. Something… I don’t know, lasting, I guess. Something honest.”

Surprisingly, Katie frowned, for the first time looking vulnerable, before she nodded. “Okay. He told you what it is, right? The anxiety, the panic attacks?”

“Yeah. I mean, I looked it up, I read some articles, but…”

“But it’s not that simple,” she finished. “What triggers panic is different for everyone, but the autonomic mechanism is the same. The body goes into a fear response, even when the rational brain is aware nothing truly dangerous is happening. Chris is an intelligent, logical, analytical person, he knows all this. He’s telling himself how stupid it is right in the middle of an attack. But panic attacks aren’t rational. They don’t make any sense, they don’t ask permission, they butt in at the least possible convenience. 

“It’s like trying to block a proverbial leaky dam. He’s dealt with this long enough to recognize his triggers and even block some of them, but sometimes it’s too much at once, too many leaks and not enough fingers to plug them. Once he loses the ability to keep it from overflowing, he literally can’t help it when it breaks and he gets swept away.”

“Like he’s drowning.”

“Exactly,” she smiled, “That’s his own analogy, by the way. Dams and drowning. Chris has a romantic love of the metaphor.”

Zach smiled, thinking of Chris’ written words, knowing his real voice is in there somewhere.

“Chris is a special kind of socially awkward,” she continued, “Most cases with this issue are more generalized. Any socialization triggers them, moderate to severe. Really extreme cases are often agoraphobic too, they don’t leave home to avoid any contact.”

She took another sip of coffee, and Zach followed suit, listening intently as she went on. “He’s sort of a unique case in that he’s extreme, but only in certain situations. He can go outside. He can interact with varying degrees of success. He’s set up a hierarchy in his head, a pyramid of levels of comfort he has with other people. The layman, for instance, people who check out his groceries, people for which there’s a set script and limit of interaction are on the lowest level. People who have expectations of him, and where the script can suddenly change but is within his capability of seeing and dealing with variations, like interacting in his working field are a little higher. Believe it or not, family is here this too, because we knew him before all this happened, we know what he’s capable of, what he believes he’s failing.”

“And me?” Zach asked.

“Well, see, you win the prize,” Katie grinned humorlessly, “You’re the top of the pyramid. Or basically the summit of Mount Everest, for him.”

“Great,” Zach worried his lip, shaking his head. “What about treatment? He said he’s doing cognitive therapy. Does he take meds or anything?”

Katie tilted her head back and forth, “He has, but he doesn’t like them. Again, I don’t know the particulars of his treatment, but I know he’s gone through most of the stages of cognitive behavior therapy. He can recognize his behaviors and triggers, he keeps track of his thoughts and reactions—”

“He’s always got a notebook with him,” Zach chimed in, “Like a journal.”

She nodded, “He’s been stuck at the last stage of cognitive therapy for years. Granted, most people with this issue always are.”

“What’s that?”

“Challenging the triggers,” Katie smiled softly. “In order to beat the fear, he has to expose himself to what scares him. Interacting with you, even trying to make dates with you, this is an amazing step forward for him.”

Zach sighed, thinking aloud. “The other night… I wasn’t expecting that, for him to meet me at work like that. He tried so hard, I could see it.”

“This is what he should do. He needs to challenge himself. But he can get over-confident,” she smiled tightly, “And then it can snowball.”

“He kissed me,” Zach swallowed, mopping his face, and looking at her cautiously. “Before that, at the beginning, I kissed him, I was too aggressive. But this time, it was… he kissed me. And then he flipped out.”

Katie shook her head, lifting her shoulders, “He panicked. And because he panicked, to him the whole night was a resounding failure. He can’t look at the big picture. He can only see whatever he perceives as a mistake. But this was progress, Zach. It was a success. It’s important to remember that.”

Zach took a deep breath, his brows pinching together in the sun. “How the hell did he get this way?”

She shook her head, “Even if I knew the specifics, I couldn’t tell you. But he wasn’t always. He was quiet and a little awkward as a kid, but he wasn’t like this, not until after college. It was a gradual descent, to a point where even we didn’t see it until it was really bad.”

Looking away, Zach didn’t know what to do. Even with more understanding of how Chris worked, he wasn’t sure he could handle this. “How can I help him if I’m the one who sets him off?”

“Keep giving him opportunities to challenge himself,” she answered.

“But I make him worse, I’m his trigger,” Zach pushed his hair from his eyes, his brows gathering worriedly, “He’s afraid of me.”

“He’s not. He’s afraid of an imaginary worst case scenario. He’s afraid of things he’s imagined you might say or think, judgements you might make about any move he makes. He’s created a monster version of you in his head that doesn’t exist. He’s afraid of your rejection, yes, but for that, you have to be the monster, and you’re not. At least you better not be, because this is my baby brother here.”

Zach gave a strangled laugh, mopping his face. “I could be. I can’t claim to be a saint, I’ve been a judgey asshole in my time. To tell the truth, I was trying to forget about all this before you showed up in my bar.”

“But you didn’t,” she raised a brow. “If you were judging Chris to be unworthy of your time, I don’t think we’d be here talking about it.”

Zach shook his head, thinking of Chris’ beautiful eyes and his earnestness and that smile, God. “He’s in there somewhere, right?”

She nodded. “He is. Look, I can’t tell you how to fix him. If it was that easy, I’d have done it already,” she said. “He has to fix himself, but to do that he needs support. He needs to turn around and do the chasing. He needs to be shown that his worst doesn’t scare you. He needs to be taken care of when he breaks down.”

“He needs a raft,” Zach said.

“Raft?”

“A rescue boat, you know. The dam breaks, runs wild and he’s drowning. But eventually, all that water will reach a lake, or the ocean and calm down. He needs a raft.”

Katie smiled brightly, shaking her head in amusement. “Yeah. Exactly, yes.”

“Okay. I can do that.”


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter is short and sweet. Happy Thanksgiving!

Chris was probably well within his rights to write Zach off at this point. It had been almost a week since The Date, and outside of Katie running interference, there had been radio silence on both ends. But Katie had encouraged the passive communication, saying it was good as long as it didn’t stay that way, that Chris needed to be coaxed out of his comfort zones and into talking face to face. But a meaningless text message just wasn’t good enough to rekindle this thing, not after Zach did precisely the wrong thing and shut multiple doors between them.

Still, it had taken him awhile to think of how to hopefully get back into Chris’ safe space, and then it had taken him ages to sit and think of what he needed to say, and a dozen drafts because sheesh, he hadn’t written something out by hand in years and his penmanship was awful, and if he pulled the dusty disused thesaurus off his shelf, well, no one had to know.

Then he lingered outside the apartment building like a creeper, waiting for someone to open the door so he could sneak in and head up the stairs to the apartment that he’d fled. He lay the envelope on the floor in front of it, so the words printed on the outside faced the apartment:

_chris with the eyes_

He jogged back down to street level, hit the buzzer marked ‘Pine’, and took off down the sidewalk with a little grin on his face. He might as well throw pebbles at the window.

Yeah, it was maybe a little bit circumventive and had an element of risk, but damn it, it was romantic.

 

_hey, it’s me. the asshole who ran away from something i didn’t understand. i still don’t, and i will more than likely continue to make stupid mistakes like that in the future. i am sincerely sorry for that. but it doesn’t mean i’m giving up on you. i think i’m a little too invested for that by now._

_chris, our midnight dates have been amazing. every tuesday night for the past eight weeks, i have looked forward to doing my damn laundry more than anything else, because it means i might get to see you. nothing about you is off-putting or stupid. i know you’re bad at talking, but just sitting with you has been the highlight of my moving here. seeing your smile every time you get through something difficult is worth it for me. i don’t want casanova, i want you. i think you’re so beautiful the way you are. i know you’re in there, and that you have a voice. maybe with some trial and error and patience on both sides, we can find it together. next time it gets overwhelming, i’ll give you whatever space you need, but i’m not going to leave until I see that smile again._

_i hope I’ll see you on laundry night tomorrow. i think about kissing you all the time, but i can wait. let’s get there. let’s take our time. let me help._

_zach_


	12. Chapter 12

Chris was not at the Wash & Spin when Zach arrived, and he once again had to remind his delicate ego that not only had he begged out of closing the bar so was he dramatically early himself, but he knew Chris could have disregarded his letter altogether.

Still, he’d stopped off at the diner, getting two coffees to-go and being sure to add two sugars and one cream to Chris’ cup before heading back to the still empty laundromat. He loaded up his own wash, started it and sat down to wait, debating whether or not he should shoot Chris a text. The last thing he wanted to do was set him off, even though Katie had insisted that it would happen again, and that he needed it to happen again. Zach would just rather not induce yet another panic attack before Chris even arrived. Or ever, really.

The bell on the door rang and Zach half-stood, only to see Wicker Woman’s scowl aimed back at him. Sitting back down with a sigh, he pulled up a game of Bejeweled on his phone and tried not to bear a grudge.

A cough pulled him out of brightly colored patterns, and he looked up to see Chris rounding the wall of washers, his laundry bag stuffed into the backpack slung over his shoulders, and a coffee cup in each hand.

“Hey!” Zach said exuberantly, “How do you sneak in without ringing that bell?”

Gnawing his lip fretfully, Chris shrugged and cautiously approached. With a look over the cups already on the table, he set his own set down and pushed one across. Zach grinned widely, taking it and pushing the cup he’d gotten for Chris over. The predictable flush crawled across Chris’ cheeks as he stifled a smile of his own, wriggled out of his backpack and turned away to start his own laundry. 

Zach watched the shift of those broad shoulders again, taking a sip from the new cup, warmer now that his own but perfectly sweetened with just the one sugar—Chris had paid attention to that little detail too, on their previous date.

Chris turned back around, eyeing Zach carefully and wringing his hands for just a moment before he pushed them into the pocket of the hoodie he wore.

Zach smiled encouragingly, gesturing to the orchard of cups they now had. “I guess we had the same idea.”

Chris sent a grin toward his shoes, lifting his shoulders up toward his ears. He took a deep breath in, darted his tongue across his lips and, very softly, he spoke, “I d-d-d… um. I didn’t th-think you’d be here. Yet.” He bit his lip hard and his brows furrowed deeply in a frown.

It was the most words he’d managed in Zach’s presence thus far, but already he was starting to hunch into himself and get that haunted look in his eyes.

“You’re not late,” Zach tried to counteract it. “I was really early, like stupid early.”

Wicker Woman slammed something on her side of the wall, the sudden noise drawing Chris’ attention as he took a few careful, deep breaths.

Zach’s machine chose that moment to finish its cycle, and with a smile towards Chris he rose to shift it to a dryer, giving him some time to get himself together. When he was done, Chris had sat down at the table, pulling out his notebook from his backpack and was staring at it in front of him. As Zach sat back down, Chris appeared to debate with himself, then opened it and nervously pulled out the letter Zach had written him, still tucked into the envelope with Zach’s scratchy handwriting scrawled across it.

Hitching a smile, Zach said, “I kept yours too. I read it all the time.”

Chris eyes brightened and met his, holding for a hopeful few seconds as he began to smile and ducked his chin. “Thank you. For… for…” he frowned, chewing his lips and giving a frustrated shake of his head. Zach waited, and it took a few minutes for the words to come. “For sticking. For g-giving me an-nother chance.”

“Likewise. Thank you for giving me more than a few,” Zach grinned and leaned a little closer to whisper, “I love the sound of your voice.”

The nerves melted away as Chris fidgeted, his face crinkling up and blushing deep pink with a full beautiful grin.


	13. Chapter 13

Misunderstandings set aside, it was as if a language barrier had been removed, at least via text message. They spent the week throwing questions back and forth, which seemed to go well as long as the questions were innocuous enough.

_so where do you find a decent pizza around here?_

_Where did you order from?_

_i’ve tried like five places and they were all roundly disappointing._

_Ah. You’re an East Coastee._

_nyc by way of pittsburgh._

_LOL. Welcome to Cali._  
 _So no Chicago style? St Louis? Sicilian? California? Detroit?_

_you wound me. please no._

_But see, this is CA. Pizza melting pot. Pick a region or go home._

_new york is a region, smartass. regular slice. i just want normal pizza!_

_Haha. Antonia’s Brick Oven is good. Spiagga too. There’s a good place in West Hollywood, but they don’t deliver up here._

 

The textual banter got more teasing and flirty as the week went on. 

_Do you like Italian food?_

_is the pope catholic?_

_That’s a yes?_

_i wouldn’t have survived to adulthood if i didn’t_

_Oh. Your Italian?_

_irish/italian_

A long pause. _Interesting._

_why interesting_

_Hot_

_oh yeah?_ Zach grinned at his phone in the middle of work. _you’re hot. what are you?_

_Kind of everything. Russian Jewish Europeanish._

_hot. :-b i like russian jewish europeanish food too._

 

_one day i’m gonna get a dog._

_Yeah? What kind?_

_whatever kind. i’ll adopt a mutt_

_aw._  
 _Maybe you can adopt some capital letters too._

_hey!_

_Can’t help it. Lit Major_

_ok grammar nazi. I’ve seen you mix a few you’re/yours, so there._

_Did you fix your phone so it doesn’t automatically capitalize?_  
 _Or maybe you asked at the Genius Bar how to do it. They’d know._

_…maybe I did. mr. skinny jeans and no socks_

_Fitting right in. West coast hipster baby._

 

_What’s your favorite word?_

_oh no,_ Zach settles back on his bed one early morning with his phone in hand and a big grin on his face, _are we answering james lipton’s questions already? is this the end of the interview? i’m nowhere near that point in my career._

_Lol OK yes. Mr Quinto, what is your favorite word?_

_lust._

The pause here stretched, and Zach had to wonder if Chris was squirming. Kinda hoped he was, a little bit.

_What is your least favorite word?_

_can’t._

_What turns you on?_

_you do._

Another pause. _What turns you off?_

Zach considered that. Once upon a time, Chris’ fear and avoidance might easily have fallen into that category. But now he knew that would have been his own sore loss. _ignorance_ , he answered.

_What sound do you love?_

_right now? pretty fond of the little bloop of a new text message._

_What sound do you hate?_

_silence_ , Zach sent, and then immediately wished he hadn’t. _but I can get used to it._

There was only a small wait before the next question. _What is your favorite curse word?_

_fuck. of course._

_If heaven exists, what would you like to hear God say when you arrive at the pearly gates?_

_it’s fine, they lied. we’ve always let queers in. freddy throws a wild party every thursday._

_lol. i think I missed a few._

_doesn’t matter._ Zach giggled.

 _Maybe we should do the full Proust Questionnaire sometime_.

_maybe. your turn now?_

_Shoot, Mr. Pivot._

Zach bit his lip and wondered. Katie had said the indirect communication was great, but he needed to keep trying to talk—to get Chris to talk. _can we try something?_

_What?_

_if you don’t want to just say_ , Zach texted back and then hit the FaceTime button in the corner of his chat screen.

It rang and rang, the tone shrill and unnerving even to Zach, and he began to think it was a mistake. Of course Chris wouldn’t accept. He was probably freaking the fuck out just from that awful noise.

But then it stopped, throwing up his own face in the corner, and a screen that looked like a blur before it solidified into… was that the blade of a ceiling fan?

“Chris?”

There was an exhaled breath, and the picture shifted a little bit, like the phone had been moved. “H-hi.”

“Hi,” Zach bit his lip. “Is this okay? I’m sorry, I should have asked.”

The screen moved again, a flash of Chris’ face, which looked briefly horrified before it fell the ceiling fan once more. “It’s… okay.”

“Hey, my nose looks huge in this,” Zach observed, trying for some humor. “You could fit golf balls up my nostrils.”

There’s a strangled sound, almost a giggle, and the screen seemed to bounce a bit. Close sounding. Zach imagined Chris lying on his bed, head propped next to the phone.

“Hey Chris?”

“Hmm?”

“What is your favorite word?”

Oh, that’s a lovely new sound—a low chuckle, a wet click like a swallow, a deep breath in. “Zeitgeist.”

Zach laughed out loud, thrilled, “Oh no, a wordsmith. Alright, what is your least favorite word?”

More breathing, and the phone moved again, he spied a blurry finger for half a second. “Should.”

Zach nodded sagely. He’d heard more than a few ‘shoulds’ he didn’t agree with in his day. “What turns you on, Chris Pine?”

The phone shivered, and the answer was a minute coming. “Ideas.”

“That’s vague,” Zach commented, his brows pulling together.

“Not really,” Chris murmured, low and raspy.

“You won’t extrapolate?”

A giggle, “Extrapolate. Nice.”

“Hmm. What turns you off?”

Chris sighed, “Me. P-probably.” The screen moved again. Now it was nothing but black, like he’d flipped it over, blocking the camera.

“Hey, come on,” Zach tried. “You’re doing fine, you know. Really well, actually.”

The phone flipped back to the ceiling fan.

“What is your favorite curse word?” Zach asked.

“Fuck,” Chris answered immediately, “Fuck fuck fuck.” It sounded slightly tight and panicky.

“Hey Chris,” Zach whispered, propping his own phone on his chest, rising and falling slowly in the picture. “See me breathing?” He watched as Chris’ picture shifted a little bit. “No more questions, just breathe like me. Okay?”

“Kay.”

“Just breathe with me. I’m still here.”

It took about five minutes before Chris’ breathing sounded steady again.

“You all right, Chris?” Zach asked, keeping his voice soft.

“Mm,” he hummed, sounding fairly relaxed now. “Sleepy.”

“Good,” Zach smiled, “No student questions. This is James Lipton, signing off.” He got a giggle for that. “Sleep tight, sweetie.”


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the the long wait, the holiday season is always pretty draining and it makes it hard to keep up with writing. Sorry this part is very short, but worry not, there is more to come!

It was at the neighborhood grocery store early one morning when Zach was picking up basic essentials (soap, toilet paper, fruit for smoothies, frozen dinners) when he came up to the end of too long a line at the checker station. He glanced up from the rack of gossip rags and spotted a familiar brown tousle at the register.

He very nearly called out Chris’ name before he remembered that Chris probably really wouldn’t appreciate that kind of attention, from Zach or any of the other witnesses standing in line. Instead, he clutched his economy package of toilet paper to his chest, half hiding behind it and watched as Chris handled his transaction. 

“These are ten for ten dollars if you get another two,” the checker told him, indicating a group of what looked like protein bars.

“Oh,” Chris said, staring at the bars on the conveyor and then at the long line of people behind him—Zach ducked, pretending to be interested a low row of chapsticks—before he replied. “No, that’s okay.”

“You sure? I can have someone run and get them,” she offered.

Chris shook his head again, “Nah, I w-won’t hold anyone up for that. It’s no big deal. Eight is enough.” He smiled at her and she shrugged acceptance.

He swiped his rewards card, collected his paper bag and the gallon of milk by the handle, exchanged the usual pleasantries with the checker over the receipt with little to no stuttering, and offered an apology to the woman in line behind him for no apparent reason, then left the shop.

It was strange to see him like this. Katie had mentioned Chris’ tiers of interaction ability, but Zach hadn’t really imagined they were so ingrained, that he was capable of more or less smooth, easy dialogue with another person. And Zach himself was at the very top of that mountain.

He needed to fix that.


	15. Chapter 15

Zach strolled into the Wash & Spin with a mischievous look on his face, letting his backpack slip to the floor as he nodded hello to Chris, hunched over his notebook. Zach said nothing, going about the routine of loading his washers and priming them with quarters. Chris looked cautiously and curiously on as he sat down, raised his eyebrows, and pulled a travel Scrabble kit from his bag.

Chris’ smile-and-duck was instantaneous.

“You started it,” Zach grinned as he quickly set up the little board between them, pushing a rack and the bag of mini tiles across the table, and amongst the thump-swoosh of washers, the game was quickly underway.

Chris laid down E R G O, earning five points.

With an arched brow, Zach placed Q and D around the E, for a whopping thirteen. Chris gave an indignant noise, pointing at it hotly, on the verge of fierce words. Zach arched his eyebrows and waited.

“N-n-no ab-brev-viations!” he finally spit out.

“Laundromat rules,” Zach shrugged.

Chris chewed his lip against a smile, blushing furiously and shaking his head. “Nine t-tile, then.”

Zach chuckled. Nine tiles per play made for a shorter game, and longer, more _wordy_ words. “Alright, I’ll bite,” he conceded, taking a few more tiles and handing over the velvet bag.

The game was fierce. The highlights included Zach laying down C E R E B R A L for thirty-two points, one of his best plays ever (he should play nine-tile more often). Chris took several minutes of furious blushing and staring at his tiles after that, during which Zach got up to shift their clothes to dryers. When he sat back down, Chris had laid out S E X, with the X over a triple, earning his a twenty point play that rounded out their scores.

Zach played the only thing he could in response to that. N O W ? That Chris gnawed his lip and got up to fold told him probably not, but he got up to do his own just the same. In the end Zach lost with Chris’ play of T I M E, but only by a small margin.

Laundry done and packed into their bags, Chris graciously held the door for the arrival of the ever-grumpy Wicker Woman grunting thanks as they left. Zach made his move under the tinkle of the bell behind her. “Come home with me?” he asked. When Chris blinked widely at him in the streetlight, he amended, “No funny business. I just want to show you something.”

While Chris worried his lip, Zach silently prayed under his breath, hoping for Chris to find some of that confidence in him. “Okay,” he finally whispered.

As Zach led the way to his own apartment, he viciously squashed any desire to try to make things happen immediately. Tossing his own laundry bag to his bed, he watched as Chris warily looked around, and reached over just as carefully to ease Chris' bag down to the floor by the door.

“I want to show you something,” he repeated, grabbing one of the afghans from the foot of his bed, and the other from the back of his couch, handing one over to Chris before heading back out the door. “You’re not afraid of heights are you?”

Chris shook his head, following him down the main hallway, taking the stairs all the way to the top, five floors to the roof access. He smiled, palming the key from where it was propped on the top of the door frame moulding. “The super isn’t the brightest crayon in the box,” he explained, pushing the door open and letting Chris through.

As it fell heavily closed behind them, Chris stared back at it, nerves etched on his face. “Hey,” Zach murmured to get his eyes back, showing him the key and that they weren’t trapped up here, “If you want to go, I promise we’ll go and I’ll walk you home. Okay?”

When Chris took a deep breath and nodded, Zach led him with a smile to the eastern side of the building.

The wind off the ocean was cold this early in the morning, and he draped himself in the afghan, watching while Chris did the same against a shiver, smiling as he felt the thick warm crochet. “My mom made them,” Zach explained and got a shy smile. He turned and sat cross-legged on the roof, Chris mirroring him.

Zach shifted around a bit until they were face-to-face, knees gently brushing. “Okay, Wordy McWordwhore,” he announced, “We’re playing a game. And I’ll give you the easy part.” When he got a curious look out of Chris, he continued, “You think of a word. It can be any word you want, but the more complex, the more ridiculousness you get out of me trying to guess what it is. You give me the first letter of your word and I get three guesses. If I don’t get it, you have to give me the next letter, and I guess three times again, and on like that until I guess right. Okay?”

Chris nodded with a ducked giggle. Zach was elated. It would get Chris speaking, little bits at a time, at least, and Zach would carrying most of the weight of conversation, which he could easily do. “Got a word?”

Chris licked his lips and stuttered out, “P-P.”

“Really?” Zach struck immediately, “If you gotta go really bad, we can—” he hitched his thumb over his shoulder at the door.

Chris blushed and shook his head, and Zach quickly backpedaled, “Oh okay, see, I’m that disingenuous Prick, so maybe that’s your word?” A headshake, and he plunged on, “It isn’t Penis, is it?” Chris snorted, narrowing his eyes, and Zach shrugged, “Worth a shot. Geez, I dunno… I can always quit being an ass and just tell you I think you’re Precious. Is that your word?”

Zach knew it wasn’t, but it was worth it just to see Chris grin and duck his pink face into his hands. Zach hesitantly reached over and stroked his knee, watching Chris watch his fingers and breathe.

“P-U.”

Zach stopped, doing a quick, dramatic pit-check, “Crap, do I stink really bad?”

That earned him an actual laugh and a strong, “No! P-U.”

“P-U, hmm,” Zach frowned, “Maybe your word is Pubilect, since I’m being really juvenile.” Chris shook his head, “No? Puckish? Puerile?”

Straightening, Chris blinked in astonishment, “Puerile?” he parroted.

“Yeah, you know, immature, childish.”

“I know what it means,” Chris said, no stutter at all, before he seemed a shrink a little, quieting, as he bit his lip and turned his eyes away, “Good word.”

Zach grinned, petting his knee again, “Yeah. But not your word?”

“No,” Chris chewed on his lip a bit and said, “P-U-L.”

Quirking his brows, Zach tilted his head in thought. “Well, that complicates things. Pulchritude?”

“Hey, yeah!” Chris exclaimed.

Taken aback that he’d gotten it on the first try, Zach brightened, “Really?” Chris glowing face only confirmed it. “Wow. You really are a word nerd.”

“You knew it though,” Chris countered back with a lifted eyebrow of his own that spoke of a lot more where that came from. “So are you.”

“This is true,” Zach shrugged, “And see, that one only works on the wordy guys. Otherwise you have to resort to the usual ‘beautiful’, ‘gorgeous’, ‘hot’— oh wait.”

Chris looked down, blushing again and lifting his shoulders under the afghan. “What-e-ever,” he muttered.

“Well, I mean it’s kind of clunky in common dialogue, but if that’s what blows your skirt up,” Zach grinned wickedly, “My pulchritudinous launderette inamorato.”

That did it. Chris dissolved into explosive giggles he tried to contain behind a teeth-clenched smile, snorting in glee. “Jesus fucking Christ.”

Zach laughed along, quieter, watching Chris face highlight with pinks and yellows, reaching forward to gently take both of his hands. “Hey, remember how I wanted to show you something?” he asked. As Chris settled and looked at him in expectation, he nodded over to the eastern horizon where the sun was coming up over the hills. “There you go.”

Chris looked at it, squinting as the brightness flared in the wild blue of his eyes, and his fingers tightening around Zach’s, not pulling away or letting go when he looked back. “Pulchritudinous.”

Zach smiled back, loving that smile on Chris face and the warmth of his palms between their laps. Game, set, and match.


	16. Chapter 16

A new hierarchy of communication was developing, relative to Chris’ comfort zone. Zach liked to think of it as a new pyramid, one he had a chance of descending with the right application of exposure.

The written word was the first and easiest level. It was where Chris was at his most eloquent, even downright chatty. The interviews continued, with less scripted questions as they exchanged emails, one quid pro quo designated per night with uninterrupted space to answer. Consequentially, it was also where Zach learned the most about who Chris was.

 **Subject: What do you do for a living?** sent by z5pbny1977@mailcom 12:23am

pineyfrshscnt80@mailcom 4:46pm replied:

_I’m a writer._

_It isn’t as romantic as it sounds, I’m afraid. I do some guest blogs and editorials, mostly for literary magazines. I have a weekly column on a poetry website. That’s the more exciting part. Most of what I do to pay the bills is copy editing, back-cover blurbs and reviews for books and films, updating textbooks and manuals and the like. Insanely boring, dry crap that I can’t pretty up with too many big words, lest the people get confounded on how to install their dishwasher or when to take their new car in for an oil change. Quality prose, let me tell you._

_But I also write. I’ve ghostwritten some autobiographies for some namey names. I’ve published some short story collections, small scale, limited prints in limited stores, most of it old cringeworthy stuff I wrote ages ago in college. I’ve shopped a couple of novels and screenplays around, gotten tons of rejections. I’m looking into ebooks and self-publishing. I see you laughing over there with your Kindle. Go ahead, you won’t find me. Not yet. Even then I’ll use a pseudonym._

_Your turn. Tell me about growing up in Pittsburgh. P.S. Use capitals. Mine eyes doth protest your affected rebellion._

 

The second tier of the new pyramid was texting, which they did constantly, and Chris managed with relative ease, unless Zach typed something to make him twitch. Hopefully in a good way.

_capitalization is too formal_

_WTF, Zach. Too formal? According to whom? My third grade teacher is spinning in her grave right now. She’s gonna drill a hole to China, she’s spinning so fast._

_too formal for text message jeez. one’s thumbs have enough to do. also who/whom. whose so formal now webster?_  
 _ps “”wtf”", so formal_

_OMG. Whose. Possessive. Who’s - who is._  
 _also Webster is so not the definitive authority. OED or nothing._

_too many commas_

_I’m so done with you. Go back to Williamsburg you hippie. Listen to Mingus on vinyl. Drink Pabst._

_you’re so fucking cute_

_Shut up_  
 _:D_

 

They’d tried FaceTime a few more times, though Chris continued to have difficulty actually showing his face on it, seeing himself on the little box in the corner. It was easier to simply call on the phone, and Zach always texted him beforehand with an excuse to be allowed to hear his voice. The easiest way to wrestle that out of Chris was to get him to read something, especially something he loved and enjoyed. Zach would listen to him read the dictionary if he thought he’d do it. Oxford English, of course. Although poetry was by far the best. And the worst, when it just so happened Chris had done a recent column on sensuality and eroticism in poetry. 

“Teach me to sin—  
In love's forbidden ways,  
For you can make all passion pure;  
The magic lure of your sweet eyes  
Each shape of sin makes virtue praise.

Teach me to sin—  
Enslave me to your wanton charms,  
Crush me in your velvet arms  
And make me, make me love you.  
Make me fire your blood with new desire,  
And make me kiss you—lip and limb,  
Till sense reel and pulses swim.  
Aye! even if you hate me,  
Teach me to sin.”

“Fuck. Me.” Zach stuttered breathlessly into his phone. A low, stifled giggle issued from the other end. “You do know I’m Catholic, right? I was. Catholic.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Jesus fucking Christ, Chris.”

“Blasphemy.”

“Read it again?”

 

The topmost point of pyramid was, of course, speaking face to face. Most of the time, Chris still struggled and stuttered, still blushed and withdrew if he thought he’d misspoken or, Zach didn’t know—breathed wrong. Most of their time spent in each other’s company was quiet, but Zach was learning to find a certain joy in the moments when that silence was not uncomfortable, when he realized there wasn’t a need to fill it, to learn how Chris spoke with his body language rather than with words.

But if Zach could get him speaking, where he managed to forget who he was talking to and just let the words come, they’d start flow like water over so many smooth pebbles.

“…you know, ninety percent of LA never sees this. Or if they do, they’re too busy to even look, really look at the sunrise, or the world around them. It’s all about them and just revolving around this desperate sense of self-importance. And no one listens either. Past the sound of the constant traffic and the horns and the wind. If you actually listen in the early morning, sometimes you can hear coyotes in the hills, and you just think of where we are, how we even got here, how insignificant we are. But I mean I totally get it, you know, I grew up in this convoluted mentality and I didn’t get it either until I took a good look in my own ass and realized I was so fucking… People just d-don’t see… y-you know. Don’t. Th-they d-don’t…”

Chris took a deep breath and shut down. It was as if the sun went behind a cloud of pain and fear, unable to finish articulating his thoughts and instead ducking his face into a fold of the blanket, the wind blowing his hair across his forehead where they sat on the roof. Zach could only stroke his hand, be present and try not to be bothered by Chris’ belief that he somehow disapproved.

At times it was one step forward and two steps back. But oddly enough, those backwards steps didn’t really deter Zach anymore. They only made him more patient and more determined to make his way down to the wide open golden plain, if it existed, of Chris’ trust.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poem: Enthralled by Alfred Bryan


	17. Chapter 17

In deference to their rooftop chats, Chris had made an effort to invite Zach to his own place a few more times. It made him extra nervous, probably less from the over eager kiss from the first time than just fearing Zach’s judgement of his space, shifting things from place to place in attempt to straighten up, though it wasn’t untidy to begin with. Chris had on two occasions disappeared into the bathroom for several minutes at a time, only to return looking sheepish and upset.

But it was getting better. Even getting him to sit with Zach and watch something random on TV without fretting too much was a sign of improvement in Zach’s view. He’d been allowed to follow Chris into his bedroom to put away laundry, though he was careful not to invade the inner sanctum too much, hanging near the door and not touching anything, even though his eyes made a thorough inventory.

There were shelves of books. Big, thick ones, novels, biopics, histories, in no discernible order, scattered paperbacks with spines so broken the titles couldn’t be read. There was a framed poster for _La Traviata_ on one wall, which Zach suspected Chris had never seen but just liked the artwork (Zach couldn’t pretend he’d seen it either, he had neither the money nor the interest for opera). The bed itself wasn’t large—a queen probably—with a couple of pillows and a thick comforter and dark blue sheets, haphazardly made, and above it, the ubiquitous ceiling fan with which Zach was already pretty acquainted. He wondered just how much Chris really slept, how he’d adopted his night owl schedule, since he didn’t _have_ to burn the midnight oil to make ends meet like a club bartender did.

One thing in the room drew his attention more than any other, aside from the man warily flitting between his closet and his dresser. Propped against a wall between the bed and the window was an acoustic guitar. He was dying to know more about that; did Chris merely dabble, was he any good with it, what sort of stuff did he play, did he also sing?

So the next time he had Chris cautiously sitting on his own bed while he finished putting away his clothes, he reached beneath the foot of it with mischief in his eyes, and pulled out his banjo out of its case.

Zach was a dabbler, and not really very good, but he’d found a few tabs for popular songs he’d learned to play. He was nervous about singing in front of anyone himself, so he could at least understand some of Chris’ feelings, sitting at the foot of his bed and picking out the tune, his own voice quiet and hesitant, forgetting most of the lyrics over the far too slow notes of his unschooled playing. 

_Now I'll be bold_  
_As well as strong_  
_And use my head alongside my heart_  
_So tame my flesh_  
_And fix my eyes_  
_A tethered mind freed from the lies_

_And I'll kneel down,_  
_Wait for now_  
_I'll kneel down,_  
_Know my ground_

_Raise my hands_  
_Paint my spirit gold_  
_And bow my head_  
_Keep my heart slow_

_'Cause I will wait, I will wait for you_

But when he looked back up at the end, it was worth it. Chris’ eyes were absolutely luminous over the edge of one of his own pillows, clutched against his chest and chin, crinkled at the corners with a hidden smile. Zach blushed bright red himself, feeling bashful as hell.

 

Several days later, just before he was about to go to bed, his phone pinged a message.

_PLEASE DON’T RESPOND TO THIS._

Zach’s heart dropped, expecting the worst, before another text popped up.

_Please don’t say anything. I bet my neighbors hate me and you’ll laugh your ass off and I’m going go throw up now because I’m about to hit send._

Then, after an agonizing wait watching that text bubble with its infernal thinky ellipse going for what had to be _forever_ … … …

… it finally put up a video, the starting image blurry and pink.

Pulling the curtains shut against the sunrise, Zach settled himself back in his bed and pressed play.

The picture shifted, fingers in the frame, and then withdrew to Chris leaning back against the headboard of his bed. With that guitar in his lap. 

Zach sucked in an anticipatory breath as Chris cleared his throat, eyes darting to the camera and away. His cheeks were already pink as he looked down at the guitar and with practiced, elegant hands, began to strum. The tune was very slow, very simple, and Zach couldn’t place it, until Chris began to sing.

_He needs me_  
_He doesn’t know it,_  
_But he needs me_  
_And so no matter where he goes,_  
_Though he doesn't care_  
_He knows that I'm there_

“Oh my God,” Zach mouthed, barely even breathing. Chris’ voice was not Nina’s bluesy warble, but an equally sultry, smoky rich tone, not even projecting as much as he probably capable.

_He needs me_  
_I oughta leave him,_  
_But he needs me_  
_I know that I ain't very bright_  
_Just to tag along_  
_Oh, but right or wrong_

Zach held his breath as Chris smiled and actually looked directly at the camera as he went on…

_I'm his... And I'm here_  
_And I'm gonna be his friend,_  
_Or his lover_  
_’Cause my one ambition is_  
_To wake him and make him discover_  
_That he needs me_  
_I've got to follow where he leads me_  
_Or else he'll never know_  
_That I need him_  
_Just as he needs me_

The last notes trailed off with his fingers, which came up to rub over a scruffy smile, and a quiet giggle. Looking back at the phone, he leaned forward over the guitar, shaking his head, “I’m never gonna have the balls to send you this, Zach.” He sighed and grabbed for the picture, a shaky flip of his face and bright, gorgeous eyes before the video ended.

Zach watched it easily twenty more times, way past his usual bedtime. He was told explicitly not to respond, but he knew Chris was currently terrorizing himself with the idea that Zach didn’t like it.

_so this is me not responding to your music video. nope._  
_*hearteyes*_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Possibly I am revealing myself by using these songs. Oh well. ;)
> 
> 'I Will Wait' - Mumford & Sons  
> "He Needs Me' - Nina Simone


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahem. Rating change. New tags added. ;)

It was about 3 in the afternoon, the typical time Zach woke up. He had a few hours before he had to be at work, so he was lounging in the dim of his haphazardly pulled curtains, thinking of Chris. Chris’ face when he was smiling, when he was fixated on Scrabble tiles and not thinking about being looked at, the way it changed when he got nervous about being watched. He thought about Chris’ big hands, his square palms, long fingers and neat nails, slightly bitten at the callused cuticles, strumming on that guitar or covering his lips. Those lips: plush, pillowy, pink like girl’s lipgloss over straight white teeth that shone bright if you coaxed out a smile. He thought about his voice, low and warm and gravelly when he spoke, rich and soulful when he sang in that video Zach watched over and over and over again…

His phone chimed a message. _You awake?_

Zach grinned, pulling his hand from his briefs to answer, _yep. mornin, sunshine._

_What are you doing today?_

_work later. now?_ Zach hesitated only briefly, because he was still half-asleep, and because by now he figured Chris appreciated his honesty… _jacking off, thinking of you_.

Zach stopped his languid stroking again when FaceTime rang, the shrill tone jarring. Chris was FaceTiming him. Voluntarily. While he was jerking his dick. He hit accept and immediately saw…

“Wow,” he quipped, his own voice rough with sleep, “That is one sexy ceiling fan. The slow revolution really does it for me.”

A snort in the background, and the phone shifted a bit. “Are you really…?”

Zach pulled his phone closer to his face and lowered his tone, “Do you want me to continue?”

He heard an inhale on the other end, “Yeah.”

“Are you going to join me?” A giggle, shaking the picture slightly, “Ah, maybe you already have?”

The answer was a low whisper, “Maybe.”

Zach reached down to grab himself again, a good squeeze over his underwear, both stimulating and calming. Holy shit, he couldn't believe it, that Chris was up for this. He’d barely gotten him to show his face on the phone for more than a few seconds. Chris preferred to snap a photo or a video, something he could separate from himself, but real time like this might as well be the same as face-to-face.

He had to approach this carefully, and tried to keep his voice playful, “Afternoon delight!” That earned another snort, and Zach grinned at his own face in the corner of his screen. “But see, here you are FaceTiming me. Were you hoping for a show?”

Chris said nothing, but Zach could hear him breathing. Still reasonably steady. “How about we play a game?” he asked.

“What game?”

Zach raised an eyebrow and bit his own lip. “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”

Chris huffed a laugh.

“See, you went first and look,” Zach set his phone on his bed, face up, reaching over to tug his curtains open a little more to let the light in, “My ceiling is a bit lacking in points of interest. There isn’t even a light fixture. I think we should move on from here, yes?”

A low chuckle answered him.

“So, here’s something else you’ve seen,” Zach tipped his phone up to the head of his bed again, showing the pattern of his black pinstriped sheets, soft and faded from many washings. “Maybe I should shell out for some new ones.”

“Show me more of you,” Chris’ voice came, low and wary, but solid.

Zach’s eyebrows shot up. So they weren’t easing into this, then. He brought the phone back to show his face, pitching his voice, “Will there be reciprocity if I do?”

The image spun, stopping on Chris’ pink, but smiling face. “Maybe,” he murmured, dazzling eyes half-hooded, one hand tucked behind his messy hair on the pillow. It lasted only about two seconds, before he tilted the phone down below his chin to the column of his neck, adam’s apple bobbing with a swallow, the bow shape of his collarbones over the swell of pecs, the picture cutting off just above where his nipples would be, an armpit with a tuft of hair.

Zach’s half-interested cock twitched. “Wow, okay,” he said a little breathlessly, still staring. He could almost make out the fine fuzz of light brown hair dusting his chest as Chris spoke again.

“Reciprocity, Zachary.”

“Right,” he agreed, shoving his covers down and kicking them off, and tilted his own phone downward from his face. “So I hope you’re not opposed to the hirsute.”

Chris’ phone picture slipped back up to his face, mouth open as he stared, the hand behind his head pulling out and dropping out of frame. His tongue flicked across his lip.

“Like what you see?” Zach purred. Chris’ eyes darted to the corner of the phone before the picture dropped flat and dark and a little peach around the edges; he’d pressed the camera to his stomach. Zach give a little laugh, “Your turn, Chris. Quid pro quo.”

He heard a deep breath, the phone lifting and the picture spinning, lots of shuffling and cloth, a hand over the lens. Another few seconds and the blurry palm lifted away, revealing that Chris had propped the phone up on the bed beside him so that it captured his body where he lay on his back. His flat, bare stomach lifted and fell with his breath, his hips hidden under plaid flannel pajama pants. There was a distinctive bulge beneath them.

“Fuck,” Zach whispered, reaching down to grab himself as he got fully hard at this unexpected move. This was Chris completely and utterly going for it, even if he couldn’t show his face at the same time, Zach was willing to take it. “Look how brave you are.”

Chris exhaled shakily, his hand smoothing down over his stomach, stopping above the waist of the pajamas. “Yeah?” 

“Yeah,” Zach encouraged, “I mean, I’ve seen those PJ’s before, but they look better _on_ you. Or maybe they’d look better off you when they’ve been on, if you know what I mean.”

Snorting, Chris snapped the waistband. “Not yet. Your turn.”

“Okay, okay, hang on,” Zach giggled, grinning down at himself. He still had East Coast blood, and LA’s heat made it far too warm for pajamas to him. Most of the time he slept in nothing but his undies, and today was no exception. Grabbing a spare pillow, he turned to lie on his side, propping the phone up against it to aim at his mid-section, as Chris had done.

When he pulled his hand back so the camera could focus, he heard Chris gasp and stifle a moan, seeing him press the underside of his wrist against the bulge in his pants.

Zach could be a tease when he wanted to be, and drew his fingers lightly down his own stomach, through the hair under his bellybutton and letting them skim over the obviousness of his own hard-on. “Like that?”

“Fuck yeah,” Chris panted. His fingers in the picture tightened in a fist.

“Go ahead, I know you want to touch yourself,” he urged, letting his own hand skate down to curl under his balls.

The hand finally dove under the elastic and grabbed the bulge in the flannel, squeezing as Chris shakily panted. Zach chuckled a little, “So, about those pants.”

He expected more resistance, a little more hesitance from Chris on this sort of exposure, but instead, both hands dropped and he lifted his ass to shove the pants down over the heather grey Ralph Lauren’s Zach had been watching him fold and imagining on him for months. There was already a dark wet patch defining the very obvious head of his cock up by his hip bone.

“Oh my God,” Zach moaned, squeezing himself, “Oh God, Chris. Look at you.”

A strangled sound answered him, Chris shoving his hand underneath the cotton to stroke, each of his knuckles defined beneath it. “Zach… let me see.”

“Yeah,” he agreed, more than willing when Chris was breathing his name like that. He pulled his cock free of his briefs, pushing them down far enough to tuck down under his balls and holding himself by the base. It wasn’t exactly the first time he’d seen his own dick on the phone screen (okay, so he was guilty of sending a dick pic or two in the past), but in the tiny FaceTime frame in the corner he had to cringe and laugh. “Objects on iPhone are larger than they appear.”

A high giggle burst through, Chris still touching himself beneath grey briefs. He stroked the full length, enough that the elastic peeked over and Zach got just a glimpse of the shiny, pink head for a moment. “God, yeah, show me that cock,” he hissed, gripping himself hard and nearly forgetting who he was talking to.

“I want…” Chris muttered, his other hand falling to the bed close to the phone, like he wanted to reach through the picture and touch. “I w-w-want t-t-to…”

Uh oh, there it was again. “What do you want?” he prompted, jerking himself to Chris’ own rhythm. But Chris’ fist faltered, pulling out of the underwear and covering himself over them, his breathing hard and shaky. The free hand retreated. 

Zach quickly regrouped, not wanting to let him fall. “Baby, you’re doing so well, you’re so brave to show me so much of you, so beautiful.”

Chris took a deep breath, and another, both hands retreating up out of the picture. Zach imagined him covering his face, hiding. “Are you okay?”

Turning on his side, Chris faced the phone, but still less on display with his knees pulling up, almost covering the way he’d softened in his briefs in the phone frame. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be, sweetie, it’s okay,” Zach whispered back. “Do you want to watch me?”

“S-still?” Chris tried, “You still w-want…”

“Hell, yeah, I still want,” Zach chuckled, stroking himself languidly and scooting it closer to his phone, “Look at what you did to me, Chris. I still have this monster to contend with.” That earned him a laugh, and he jerked with more intent, letting his voice go more breathless, “You did this, you know, got me so hard I can barely think. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to push you, but you’re so hot. It’s hard, Chris.”

He could hear Chris’ shaky breaths in the phone. “I want to w-watch.”

“You can,” Zach told him, pushing his free hand down to palm his balls, rolling them, “You can watch me all you want. God, Chris.”

He worked himself for several minutes, putting himself on display, moaning and panting so Chris could hear. Chris’ phone remained pointed on his stomach, though a hand occasionally reached to tilt it if it seemed to slip. His knees gradually lowered from the frame, his body relaxing again. When Zach slid his thumb up through a drop of pre-come from his slit and grabbed for the phone to bring it to his mouth and suck it off, Chris cursed loudly, his hand finally dropping back down to his briefs.

“There you are,” Zach murmured warmly, propping his phone back up. “What do you want, Chris?”

“Want to see you come,” the words were strung together fast, as if they wouldn’t come otherwise.

“I’m going to,” Zach told him, moving his fist fast and watching as Chris’s did the same, his other hand finally shoving the grey briefs down. Not enough to free his balls, but his cock was thick and nearly reached to his bellybutton, “Oh, I'm going to come for you, Chris.”

“Yeah?”

“Fuck yeah,” Zach gasped, his hand a blur, “God, you’re perfect. Oh fuck, Chris, I’m about to—Ah!”

He came, shuddering slightly as he pumped through his fist and drops of thick white come spilled onto his dark sheets.

“Fuck,” came Chris’ voice, and Zach reached to steady his phone where his movements had made it slip. “Fuck, fuck, God, Zach!”

As Chris grunted through his own orgasm, Zach’s cock jerked a near painful aftershock, a tiny drop milking its way free as he saw Chris, half on his back, streaking his belly and sheets, shining in the afternoon sun against his matte peachy skin.

They panted together for long minutes, phones barely grasped and fingers partially blocking the frame. Then he heard Chris give a huge inhale, and then the most beautiful of sounds—a full-on laugh. He answered it with one of his own.

“So, fun times on FaceTime?”

Chris kept laughing.

“Well, Christopher,” Zach tilted his phone so he could raise his eyebrows, “It looks like we have some laundry to do.”


	19. Chapter 19

Zach had been living in LA for more than six months. He had acclimated quite happily to the persistent warmth and the subsequent chilled out atmosphere, so different from the near painful intensity and expectation of New York, or the working class homey mentality of Pittsburg. His job at the bar was fun, and he’d made a lot of friends and acquaintances. And he had Chris. Chris, his quiet ray of sunshine in the balmy nights, partner in word games and laundry and diner pancakes at 4 AM, who made him read and wanted his opinions, whose book review and poetry columns he devoured and always commented on with the inspired handle of ItalianStallionsCleanUnderoos.

So when the situation finally swung back around to remind him of how _not normal_ it was, he suddenly found himself at odds.

“Guess who.”

Zach looked up to find Mr. Nipple Ring sidled up to the bar, yet again. He'd introduced himself at one point, but Zach had long since forgotten his actual name; he wouldn’t be keeping it. He smiled obligingly, “You’re back. What’ll it be tonight?”

“Rum and Coke? Make it Vanilla Rum and Cherry Coke.” Nipple Ring grinned, tongue caught flirtily between his teeth, also pierced, “Maybe tonight you can find out just how vanilla and cherry I am.”

Zach laughed, curbing an eye roll as he poured the lurid combination, “You’ve tried that line before.”

“When are you going to go out with me?” Nipple Ring leaned over the bar, puppy-eyed.

Zach tipped in teasingly close from the serving side as he pushed the drink into the guy’s hand, “Order something that’s the real you and we’ll see.”

Nipple Ring’s grin went sharkish, “How about a Blowjob then?”

With a snort, Zach shook his head. “How about you drink your Cherry Popper.”

“Think I can’t take it?” the guy waved his tongue between his teeth.

“I’m sure you can, but I can’t,” Zach shrugged, “Sorry.”

Nipple Ring stared after him for a minute, finally pushing some cash across and sashaying away through the crowd. Nice tip, as usual.

“Man, I don’t know why you keep turning him down,” Steve called out.

Zach shrugged with a smile, wiping down his counter.

“He’s hot. Not your type?”

“Nah,” Zach shook his head in the direction Nipple Ring went, “You want to meet Prince Albert, knock yourself out.”

“Why not you?”

Zach leaned down to count his glasses, glad the heat in his face didn’t show in the neon and darkness. “I’m seeing someone.”

“Yeah? You never said so! Why don’t you ever bring him around?”

“It’s…” _complicated_ , Zach thought. “It’s kind of a long distance thing.” It wasn’t entirely a lie? Distances of city blocks or sometimes feet and inches could technically be a long distance relationship, right?

 

A few of Zach’s other friends had tried to be understanding, but now their patience for his rebuffs was finally up, and their frustrations and pity were coming to the forefront.

“I know you said he’s shy,” Zoe said one afternoon over coffee, “But it’s a wine tasting, for Christ’s sake, not a rowdy house party. It would only be a small group of people, nine at the most.”

“Nine is too many,” Zach shook his head at the idea of Chris trying to navigate that many new faces at once, in a strange house; it would never work.

“Give me a break,” Zoe made an exasperated face, “Fine, why don’t we go for coffee? Call it a double date, right? Just you guys with me and Marco. Just _coffee_ , just like this.”

Frowning, Zach tapped his cup on the table, “I could ask him, but I’m sure he’d say no, Zoe. You don’t understand.”

“You’re right, I don’t,” she griped, her brows pinching together. “Normal people go out with friends and meet new people. No one should live like that, shut in their house all the time. He needs help.”

“He has help. His whole family are therapists, Zoe. You can’t just give someone a magic pill and expect them to want to be Polly Popular. And he’s not a shut-in, he tries so, so hard, you have no idea—”

“It’s not healthy.”

Zach huffed, “Who are we to judge if it’s healthy to prefer—”

She put a hand on his arm to stop him, “I mean it’s not healthy for _you_. He can barely speak to you, he freaks out when you kiss him, you told me that. If he can’t talk to you, can’t be close to you, do you have a relationship? Do you even have sex? How do you know if he really considers this dating? Do you call it a relationship, if he can’t even be comfortable in the same room with you? Is this what _you_ want?”

Zach clenched his teeth, left his coffee and walked off, ignoring her calls and apologies after him, but they stuck and kept on stinging like nettles long afterwards. Because she was right.

 

His brother had side-eyed the hell out of him when he talked to him about it, though he was more understanding. Joe himself was not a people person, preferring to watch from the other side of a lens. “I dunno,” he said, “If you’re okay with it, it’s fine. I just have a hard time seeing you settle for a constantly quiet party-of-two.”

“You’re an asshole,” Zach glowered, “I’ve had relationships.”

“Maybe, but not like this, not for long. This guy… he has to fill a lot of shoes to keep your attention, little bro. I’ve never known you to be satisfied without a crowd of people around you. You always saw the world with a wide angle lens.”

“Well, maybe I’ve started seeing the appeal of quietude. Maybe I’ve learned to focus.”

“Aw, my baby bro’s growing up,” Joe quipped, “But you know, pull it back a little, too, or you miss the big picture.”

 

Even his mom was wary, but she was good for listening to his frustrations and offering sound advice. 

“So he’s shy, that isn’t all there is of him, is it? Remember, Zachary,” she said, “Remember how quiet you were as a boy?”

“I suppose, Mama,” he muttered across the line. His own shyness in overcoming his father’s death and struggling with his personal identity in a religious school was a far cry from what Chris was going through. “It’s just hard.”

“Well, it’s never going to be easy, you know,” she told him sagely, “Your father was a quiet man, and too eloquent for any Pittsburg barber. Most people thought he was odd, arrogant, too much in his own head. But I knew he was passionate, just in different ways than most men. I had to work to be allowed into that world of his. It’s a special place, a privilege earned, that trust. Relationships are hard work. You must try to meet in the middle.”

“Yeah,” he agreed with a sigh. 

But he had been working for that middle ground. He’d been incredibly patient, above and beyond anything he’d ever been when it came to this, before he simply lost interest and moved on.

Come to think of it, Chris was quickly approaching the longer end of that spectrum of his stilted past relationships. Certainly the longest in seeing anyone without much in the way of a physical relationship. Zach had been thrilled when FaceTime sex had entered the picture, and it was easily more satisfying than before. Even if it increased the pangs of wanting, so very badly, to be able to do it in person, to be able to touch that beautiful body, to kiss and hold him afterwards. Or at all. 

He cared for Chris, probably more than he had for anyone else. He had gotten a little bit farther down the mountain in the last several weeks, but he still wasn’t at the bottom. Now there seemed to be a sheer cliff to scale, with no safety line.

 

That night he called, without warning Chris first with a text, but it was picked up on the fourth ring.

“Zach?”

“Yeah, it’s me,” Zach settled unhappily on his bed. “Can I ask you a question?”

There was marked hesitation on the line. “Okay.”

Zach pushed his fingers into his eyelids, trying to find the right way to phrase it. “What we’re doing, what we’ve been doing,” he started, “Is this enough for you?”

He heard Chris take a very deep breath, and then another, and another, and went into rescue mode automatically, “I’m sorry. Keep breathing, okay? I’m not… I’m not ending anything here, I just need some things defined, I guess.”

Chris took another several shaky breaths before he cleared his throat, “No.”

“What?”

“It’s… It’s not en-nough,” Chris stuttered, “It is-is… isn’t wh-wh-what I want at all.”

Zach let out a frustrated breath of his own, mopping his hand up his furrowed brow and through his hair, a cold, painful twist in his gut, “It’s not, huh?”

“B-b-bu-b-b-buu—Fuck. _Fuck!_ ” There was a strained breath and a door shutting, then a vaguely echoey sob; Chris was in his bathroom, “D-d-don’t hang up. P-pl-please don’t. Gi-imme a m-m-minute.”

“I won’t,” Zach whispered, digging deep for some patience. “Take your time.”

He listened to Chris work through a short bout of tears, calming himself by humming a wavery tune that strengthened got himself back under control.

“I want everything,” he finally blurted out. “I want to be able… be able to talk to you. I want to touch you. I want to not be scared, God, I want to kiss you and taste you and feel you… and _not be like this_.” He heaved a deep, painful inhale. “You make me b-better. It’s hard, but I want to be better. For you.”

Zach smiled so wide his cheeks ached, a couple of tears coming to his own eyes that he thumbed away. He sucked in a big breath of his own and huffed it shakily out, “Okay.”

Chris was quiet on the line, “Are… are y-you okay?”

“Yeah,” Zach said, quickly, “Yeah, I’m just… happy. Hey Chris?”

“Yeah?”

“Did you hear yourself? You just said all that so beautifully,” he told him warmly. “You barely stuttered.”

The light sob on the line sounded like it closed with Chris’ gorgeous smile. 

“Hey Chris?” he added, “I want you to know, I’m not seeing anyone else. I haven’t been, not since I met you.”

“R-really?”

“Really. You’re it for me, baby.”

They held the line for a few minutes in comfortable quiet before Chris muttered self-deprecatingly, “Man, I’m a shitty boyfriend.”

Zach giggled, “You’re mine though.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Is that okay?”

The smile in Chris’ voice was obvious, “Yeah. That’s… yeah.”

 _Maybe this isn’t normal_ , Zach thought, his heart full to bursting, _but it’s ours. It’s us._


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry, there is turmoil and angst ahead!
> 
> New warnings for homophobic slurs, public humiliation and vomiting.

There was an unexpected surprise at the Wash & Spin as Zach walked in; a crowd. Relatively speaking, anyway; there were five loud and raucous guys and three girls with them, some of them he recognized here before, now probably off school for the summer. From the sound and smell of things, they’d hit the bars until last call, and for whatever reason were too hyped up to go home and sleep it off. Why they chose to do laundry was anyone’s guess.

Zach was used to drunks, of course, but with the music from someone’s wireless speakers, the loud laughter, the dudebro shouting and the _frisbee_ flying across the triple loaders, this was not Chris’ bag at all. Except no, Chris’ bag was on his usual table, but Chris was nowhere to be seen. 

“Come on, man!” one guy slammed a fist against the bathroom door. “You’ve been in there for half an hour! I gotta pee!”

Zach immediately dropped his stuff and headed over, putting a hand on the guy’s arm. “Hey, could you not—?”

“Fuck off, I was here first!” the guy belligerently pushed him off.

“Easy,” Zach raised his own hands unthreateningly and shoved down his own searing anger. “I know this guy. Let me talk to him so you can pee. Okay?”

“You gotta give him directions or what?”

“Look, there’s a diner right down the block if you have to go so bad,” Zach hitched a thumb over his shoulder.

“Whatever, man, they make you buy something if you walk in,” the asshole grumbled, but wandered off a few steps.

Blowing out a breath, Zach tapped a knuckle lightly on the door. “Chris? It’s me. It’s Zach.” He could barely hear over the ruckus behind him. “Can you come out?”

His phone buzzed in his pocket. _No_.

“Are you okay?” Zach called nervously.

_NO_

“Chris,” Zach said now, “Let me help you, okay? I need you to unlock the door and let me in. Can you do that?”

After several seconds with his hand on the door handle, he felt the lock click over and quickly opened the door. As he slipped in, Belligerent Asshole’s face transformed to rage as he stomped back over. “HEY!”

Zach swiftly shut the door in his face and locked it behind him, a hail of pounding in his wake with the guy’s muffled cursing. He found Chris huddled on the floor between the sink and the toilet, his phone on the floor beside him. Both arms were wrapped around his head, covering his ears, face against his knees. He looked small and absolutely terrified.

Ignoring the pounding, Zach squatted down on his heels in front of him, wanting to touch but holding back. “Hey, sweetie. This guy’s going to break the door down in a minute,” he murmured, another barrage of thumping following. Chris curled up even tighter, a wet sob blurting forth. “Can you try to take a deep breath for me?”

Chris did, sucking in air heavily between his jean-clad knees. Zach risked putting his hand gently on a forearm, petting up and down. “Take a few more, okay? Can you look at me? Just me, it’s okay.”

A whimper leaving him between gulps of air, Chris lifted his head just enough for one red-rimmed eye to peek out. Zach smiled, and Chris unwound a little more. His face was swollen and wet as he tried to press his lips shut, his chin wobbling. He made a disgusted, apologetic noise, one hand gesturing at himself and hid his face in his knee again.

Zach took a deep breath himself. His heart wrung a little, seeing Chris this way, knowing he still feared his judgement. “It’s okay, Chris,” Zach whispered, petting his forearms encouragingly. “I know it doesn’t feel like it, but you’re safe.”

Just to dispel his words, the guy yelled and hammered on the door again, making Chris flinch back and his eyes go round at it, shaking in its frame. 

“Hey,” Zach tried, “Don’t worry about him, eyes on me.” Chris jerked his eyes back, wide and scared. Zach licked his lips, thinking fast. “We need to leave.” Chris shook his head wildly, but Zach plunged on, “We’ll just leave, the whole place. We’ll just go.”

“N-no!” Chris darting eyes came back up, his voice strained and wheezy, “No! Sorry I can’t I’m sorry!”

“All right,” Zach sat down on his butt, his own gangly legs corralling Chris’ knees. “Let’s breathe for a little while, okay? Just look at my face, don’t think about anything else, we’ll just sit and breathe in and out. Keep your eyes on me, I’m right here.”

He took Chris’ hand and pressed it to his own chest, exaggerated his breathing; a slow breath in, then out, and in and out again. He spoke randomly, just trying to make Chris concentrate only on him. “Think about… the sun coming up on my roof, how the stars fade out and it goes all purple, and pink, and orange, and then blue, and gets lighter and lighter, and warmer and warmer, and it’s so quiet and calm before the city wakes up, and it’s just you and me against the world.” 

Chris’ wide, wet eyes locked to his, mesmerizing, and he even managed to maintain it through another hail of pounding with a little flinch. Zach smiled, “You’re doing so good. So well. And after this, we’re going to go home. Don’t worry about your stuff, I’ll come back for it. We’ll just open the door and totally ignore whoever’s out there, we’ll go straight home where it’s quiet and safe and we can sit up there until the sun comes up. Does that sound all right? Going home?” 

Finally Chris nodded, his breathing slowed and calmed. “Good. Can you stand up?” Zach stood, picking up Chris’ phone for him as he pulled himself off the floor. He mopped the damp tracks from his face, took several deep breaths and sniveled, his hands trembling. “Sorry,” he croaked, leaning into Zach’s shoulder, looking at the floor in embarrassment. “Fucking st-st-stupid.”

“No it’s not. You’re not,” Zach shook his head, wrapping an arm around him, “It’s fine. You’re fine, Pine.”

Chris gave that a strangled laugh, and Zach couldn’t help but press a kiss to his temple. “I’ll be right here with you. Ready?”

Chris nodded, and Zach opened the door.

“Finally!” Belligerent Ass immediately crowed, crowding them, “What the fuck is with you, man?” He gave Chris a heavy shove, dislodging him from Zach and into the wall beside the bathroom door.

Reacting on instinct, Zach had the guy by the throat against the nearest set of dryers in a heartbeat, growling, “Don’t touch him.”

The guy gurgled and Zach let him go, a little shocked at himself and intent on just getting Chris the hell out of there, but another three guys had arrived in the scuffle.

“What, did he need a blowjob? You fags just can’t wait, can you? Look at this little fucking titty baby, are you _crying_?”

“Hey, back off!” Zach moved defensively in front of Chris as he shrank against the wall.

“Guys, quit it!” called one of the girls, another standing up and agreeing, but they wouldn’t be dissuaded. 

One of them stepped up into Zach’s face. “Why don’t you make me, shitdick.”

The guy was bigger and beefier than he was, but Zach had wrestled with his own brother enough to hold his own. Just when he was preparing to take a few punches, an unknown voice railed out loudly, “Enough!”

Zach blinked as the guy stepped back to reveal tiny, wrinkled old Wicker Woman in their midst, all ninety-five pounds of her like a shriveled, pissed off owl yanked into daylight. Her voice was a sharp, heavily Greek accent, “This how you behave in front of pretty girl? Big strong men can’t wait to piss like baby? Mama teach you wash your pants, no manners? Shame!”

One of them stepped back and mumbled, “Sorry, ma’am.” The rest quickly followed suit, lumbering contritely away. The first guy threw Zach a dark scowl, shuffled past into the bathroom and shut the door, leaving him to the old woman. “Thank you.”

She pointed at them and grunted, “You, him, good boys. These ones,” she waved at the others and lifting her eyes to the ceiling, “Idiots.”

Zach spoke his thanks again, and he’d make more conversation if he didn’t have more pressing things to worry about. He strode over to grab Chris’ bag and swooped down to shoulder his own before turning back. Chris was hunching into himself like a frightened turtle against the wall. He lay a hand on his shoulder and whispered, “We’re going home, let’s go.”

But Chris looked completely disoriented, so Zach turned to try to gain his focus, putting both hands on his face. “Hey, all you have to do now is follow me, okay?” 

Chris’ eyes glazed over, his skin ashen. Then abruptly, he lurched forward and threw up. 

Zach reacted instinctively, jumping back with a noise of abject disgust. The guys behind him broke into hysterics as he closed his eyes, swallowing against his own gag reflex. It had been a long, long time since he’d been puked on. 

Looking at Chris—fallen to his knees and still retching into his puddle before he curled back up against the wall and panted, sickly grey and sweaty, tears streaming from his eyes like he’d rather die than be here and acknowledge this—Zach had never seen anyone so pathetic in his life.

“Oi,” a gentle, gnarled hand appeared on Zach’s arm. Wicker Woman was suddenly there once again, with a pile of what looked like dishcloths on her arm, her shriveled face kindly as she handed one to him, “You go, help friend. Yaya clean up.”

Zach held his breath, swiping at the front of his shirt and shorts, his shoes pretty much ruined. Any other time, he would’ve walked away from this and never looked back. But the old woman simply took back the dirtied rag with a sympathetic, yet expectant look. 

Taking a deep breath through his mouth, he sidestepped the mess, taking Chris’ arm. “Let’s go home.” Chris tried to shrink away from him, but Zach hauled him up purposefully, “Nope. Not this time.”

As he pulled Chris towards the exit, he heard Wicker Woman stop the jackass who started the whole mess as he came out of the bathroom, pressing a rag at him. “You bully sick boy, you clean up sick. Your fault.” She ignored his appalled protest and turned to the others, waving the rags at them, her voice loud and commanding, “You too. Girls watch you, big men. Bullies. Your fault. Learn consequence.”

Zach shook his head in awe as the dudebro’s cut off their loud music, grudgingly shuffling forward to collect a rag and be thoroughly chastised as he ushered Chris out the door, into the cool quiet dark.


	21. Chapter 21

Once outside, dragging a seemingly catatonic Chris down the sidewalk, Zach was faced with a new dilemma—Chris’ place or his own? Neither one was far, and they were mere blocks from each other. What would Chris want? He’d undoubtedly feel safer in his own home, but not if Zach was there, that always made him extra nervous. He was always anxious at Zach’s as well, but that was less about the location than it was about the company. 

Ultimately at the turn off, he took them to his own place, for little other reason than he could change his stinky clothes and feel a little more in control of things. Kicking off his filthy shoes into the bushes by the main entrance, he hauled Chris up the stairs to his own door. Once inside, he unshouldered his burdens to the floor, pulling Chris farther in.

“Okay,” he murmured, looking Chris over. He was shivering, intently staring at the floor, arms clutched to his chest and fists clasped against his mouth. There was a streak of vomit down the front of his shirt, though Zach had borne the brunt of it. The smell was overwhelming now that they were inside without a breeze. Swallowing, he guided Chris to his bathroom.

Inside, he turned Chris away from the mirror, putting the seat down on the toilet and had him sit. Kneeling in front of him, he tugged off his shoes and gently pulled Chris’ soiled shirt up and off, having to wrestle a bit where Chris clasped his shaking hands and elbows together. Leaning over, he turned on the shower, adjusting the temperature.

“There’s shampoo and soap in here, and it’ll stay warm for a good twenty minutes or so,” he said, pulling a clean towel from the cupboard, the one spare he had, washed last week. “You’ll feel better if you clean up.”

When Chris didn’t answer, he sighed and lay his fingers on Chris’ arm, “Chris? Please look at me.” It took a minute, but when he briefly managed to raise his eyes, Zach mustered a smile, “I’m not mad. I just want you to feel better, okay?”

Those dewy eyes filled to overflowing and dropped to the floor yet again, and Zach couldn’t help it, he stood and gently kissed the top of his head. “Clean up and warm up, as long as you want. I’ll be right outside if you need anything. I promise.” He pulled himself away, quietly closing the door behind him.

He stopped in his kitchen, tugging off his own smelly, soiled clothes, balling them up in a grocery bag and then into his own laundry bag by the door. He washed up in the sink before leaning on it heavily, taking a few deep breaths of his own. 

Had he made the wrong decision, bringing Chris here? Should he be in there helping him clean up, or was it right to give him some space? Granted, he’d seen most of Chris in tiny phone-sized sections, and vice versa, but that sort of vulnerability would probably not be welcomed right now, and neither would it be the time to think about the things Chris’ naked body usually resulted in, he was certain of that. He just wasn’t sure of much else.

In his bedroom, he pulled on loose, comfortable clothes and found another pair of sweats and a shirt for Chris, but the bathroom door was now locked. He sighed and left the clothes by the door, then went to his living room to collapse on the couch.

A good fifteen minutes past before he heard the shower turn off, and he cautiously approached the door again, tapping. “Chris? I’m leaving some clean clothes right out here for you. And I think there’s a new toothbrush in the drawer that you can have, okay? Whatever you want to use in there, and I’ll just be in the living room.”

It didn’t take long after he retreated for the door to open and quickly shut again. He mustered a smile when he could hear the sound of teeth brushing; that had to make Chris feel better. After another twenty minutes, the door clicked open and remained that way. 

He made himself wait a few more minutes before he went looking and found Chris sitting on the floor of his bedroom. He was dressed and leaning against the side of the bed, his knees drawn up, hair damp and droopy over his forehead and down his neck. Zach moved slowly, being sure Chris saw him before pulling the familiar afghan from the foot of the bed and draping it over him, crouching down. “Hey,” he whispered, getting a closer look. Chris wasn’t shaking any longer, the legs of Zach’s flannels a little bit long over his big bare feet. His face was pale and vacant, eyes red, but dry. “You okay now?”

Chris sniffed, pulling the afghan tighter and avoided his eyes.

“Chris,” Zach tried, “Just tell me what you need, okay? Anything I can do.”

Taking a deep breath, Chris pressed his lips tight before letting them open again. His eyes searched, but then closed, a small noise escaping his throat. He turned his face fully into the bedspread, hiding.

Zach sighed, mopping a hand through his hair in frustration. “All right, well. You can get in the bed, if you want, get some rest?”

Chris nodded, still avoiding his gaze as he lugged himself up and then sat on the bed itself, warily, as if he was waiting for Zach to leave before he made himself even more vulnerable.

Sighing again, Zach stood and turned for the door, “Okay. I’ll just be out here if you need anything.”

When he got one more nod, he made himself go, pulling the bedroom door most of the way closed.

He puttered in the bathroom, seeing the used towel hung up to dry and the new toothbrush set on the sink top, not near his own but tucked out of the way, behind a tube of hair gel, as if to hide evidence. Chris’ clothes were wadded in a tight pile between the bathtub and toilet, and Zach retrieved another plastic bag for them, setting it by his own stuff.

Unsure of what else to do, Zach flopped back down on his couch, flicking on the television to muted infomercials. The adrenaline of the evening was tanking out of his system, his body feeling wrung and used. The next thing he knew, when he’d let his eyes shut for just a moment in the glare of the TV, he was opening them to a sky just beginning to lighten out the windows. He rubbed the crust out of his eyes and jumped up, crossing the apartment to ease the bedroom door open and peek in. 

Chris was sprawled out on his stomach, on top of the bedspread with the afghan haphazardly wrapped around his torso. He faced the opposite wall, one hand curled near his face on the pillow, his breathing slow and deep. 

Zach’s heart gave a squeeze, grateful he was finally down. Half of him wanted to crawl in behind him, but he doubted that would be taken well. They’d barely progressed to much beyond hand-holding in person, and even that was mostly a rooftop thing. In fact, he’d probably touched Chris more in the last few hours than he was normally allowed.

Tiptoeing out, he turned dumb circles in place, trying to reorient himself. The pile of his and Chris’ laundry bags still sat by the door. Zach’s ruined shoes were still somewhere in the bushes outside, and Chris’ clothes were probably still stuck in a washer, wet and soon to mildew if they weren’t retrieved. He wasn’t sure what happened with abandoned clothes once the owners of the laundromat came in. It was still really early, and he knew Chris normally slept from roughly sunrise to early afternoon. If he slept long enough, Zach could probably go down and finish them off, run his own wash and be back before he woke up.

He found a pair of flip flops, gathered up the things, and quietly shut the door behind him.

The Wash & Spin was once again back to its usual state of bright, quiet calm, empty of people and chaos. When he rounded the triple loaders, the floor was clean, and set on Chris’ usual table were the clothes he’d left, washed, dried and neatly folded in two piles. Zach shook his head in gratitude. He’d have to take that wonderful old lady out for dinner, get her some flowers or something. He pushed his own laundry into a machine, Chris’ and his own soiled clothes from the evening among them, and set a quick wash cycle.

The owners came in shortly after he’d set them drying, the woman nodding to him as she began scouring the whole place. He headed down down the block to grab a coffee, and then on a whim, stopped in at a corner store just pulling up its gate. He bought a half-dozen eggs, a carton of almond milk and bread, unsure of what he had in his fridge that was still fit for consumption. He didn’t keep around baking goods and was doubtful of his pancake abilities anyway, but he could probably throw together a decent french toast.

Heading back, he folded his own wash (not nearly as well as Wicker Woman’s perfectly lined up stacks) and tucked it all in the bag, the sun warm on his hair and the tops of his feet as he headed back home.

As soon as he opened the door, it was clear Chris had woken up after all, standing in his kitchen like a deer in headlights.

“Hey!” Zach greeted with surprise, lumbering awkwardly in and pushing the door shut with his foot, nearly tripping as he juggled his coffee cup, laundry and the groceries. 

Chris still clutched the afghan around his shoulders, barefooted and bedheaded. Zach giggled at the picture he made, dropping the laundry with a flump and untangling himself. “I didn’t think you’d be awake yet. I went back to the Wash & Spin to get your stuff—it’s in the bag there. No one was there, and you know, that old lady had finished off your clothes? Immaculately folded, looked like a store display. I hope she made those assholes cough up quarters for it.” He strode purposefully into the kitchen, setting the grocery bag down on the counter. “Did you sleep okay? How are you feeling?”

Chris backed away, butt bumping into the counter, eyes widening before they darted elsewhere, anywhere but at Zach.

“Hey, wait, it’s okay,” Zach tried, raising a steadying hand, but Chris shied away, flinching out of his reach. “Chris, don’t do that, everything’s just fine now.” 

But Chris squirmed around him in the narrow galley, jostling Zach’s arm and making him spill his coffee as he ran.

“Hey, shit!” Zach clenched his teeth as the coffee sloshed over his arm, splashing his pants and the floor. Luckily it was only lukewarm by now. “Chris!” he turned, trying to catch him, but the bathroom door slammed and locked. “Come on, dammit!” Zach yelled angrily, pounding an open hand on the door. 

He yanked it sharply away from the surface, suddenly realizing what he’d just done. “Fuck. FUCK. Chris, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to do that. Please come out? Chris?”

But from inside, all he could hear were muffled sobs. Zach flapped the coffee drips from his arm and hand, groaning in irritation. “I don’t know what you need, Chris,” he raked his clean hand through his hair. “I just tried to do what you needed and I obviously fucked that up and I’m sorry, okay?”

There was no answer, just snivels and a whimper. Zach pressed his forehead to the door. He had _no idea_ what he was doing. He had no clue if he was helping Chris or hurting him, bringing him here. He had locked the apartment door on the way out, but surely Chris knew how to work a standard doorknob lock if he’d wanted to leave. Maybe he just startled him, barely awake and not ready for an onslaught of Zach. Caging him in the bathroom like a hostage and banging on the door was a fantastic idea.

He blew out a heavy breath, swiping at the coffee stains soaking into the thigh of his sweats. He should give Chris space, let him know he was absolutely free to leave if he wanted, after that idiotic mistake.

He grabbed a dishtowel to mop up the rest of coffee on the floor, and put the groceries in the fridge before he stopped by the bathroom door again. “Chris, I’m gonna go. I’ll let you calm down for awhile. And you can… And you can just do whatever you want. Okay? I’m sorry.” Feeling like a complete asshole, he still waited for an answer he didn’t get, gritted his teeth, then grabbed his keys and his phone and left.

Maybe when he came back, Chris will have left too. Zach winced with guilt at the relief that thought gave him. It would also end pretty much everything he’d worked for in the last half a year, and that felt like shit.

He stood outside his apartment building on the sidewalk. In the bushes still lay his pukey shoes. He wrinkled his nose, plucking them out and ultimately deciding they weren’t salvageable. It would mean another grocery bag and another attempt at his apartment and probably another trip to the Wash & Spin and it just wasn’t fucking worth it right now. Holding them by the heel with his fingers, he started the trek around to the building to toss the shoes in the dumpster, and then headed down the road in no particular direction.

He watched people starting to zombie around the early hour, lining up out the door of the local coffee shop and coming out the other door looking like God had bestowed upon them another caffeinated day. He found himself now hating the happy California sunshine, wishing for rain. He’d made a fucking mess and he wanted something to come fix it for him, wash it away like it had never happened.

He thought about calling his mom, but it was mid-morning back in Pittsburgh, she was probably at work. He absently took out his phone, finding a two texts there waiting, timestamped from earlier this morning. 

_You’re not here._

_I don’t know where you are_.

“Fuck.” He must have left his phone in the apartment when he’d gone out. He didn’t even leave a note. Chris would’ve had no way of knowing where he’d gone when he woke, in a strange bed, after a scary-as-fuck episode. Of course he’d freaked out. It struck him how much he was trying so damn hard to make all this about himself. It wasn’t. “Zach, you’re a fucking idiot,” he muttered to himself.

He went into his contacts, scrolling to Chris’ name and wondering if he could even get him to answer now. But then he saw, right beneath Chris’ own name, there might be a lifeline after all.

The voice on the phone was groggy, “Hullo?”

“Katie? Um, this is Zach. Quinto.” There was a long pause and a breath and a muffled murmur, possibly from someone else nearby. “Shit. Sorry it’s so early, I’m sure I woke you.”

“No, it’s fine, comes with the territory,” she answered with a grunt, more sounds of ruffling and moving, “Is Chris okay?”

Zach let out a deep breath of his own. “I… I don’t know. I mean, he’s safe, he’s not hurt, but—”

“That bad, huh?”

“Does puking on me in public count as pretty bad?”

She cursed. “Tell me what happened.”

Zach relayed the whole story of the Wash & Spin, which sounded even more ludicrous when put into words, peril at the hands of the College Dudebro Gang and salvation in the form of a tiny Greek woman. “I mean, he calmed down after we got out of there, he slept, but now he’s right back in it.”

“That happens. Especially with a big public one, it’s cyclical.”

“Yeah, but I…” Zach bit his lip, confessing, “I fucked up. I mean he was probably going to anyway, but I fucked up.”

There was the sound of coffee perking across the line. “What did you do?” she asked, a note of the big sister in her voice.

There was a lump already forming in his throat when he answered, “I yelled. I got frustrated and I yelled at him and I did exactly why that bastard did and banged on the door. I scared him,” His voice wavered and he tilted his head back to the sky, covering his wet eyes. “I’m so sorry.”

“Okay,” she said, sounding significantly more professional. “First of all, you need to calm yourself down.”

Zach heaved a deep breath, and another, but the tears were flowing now. “I scared him again. Fuck, I haven’t scared him in months,” he sniveled. “Goddammit, I’m such an asshole.”

“You fucked up. It happens, and you’re owning it, that’s a good start,” she offered. “Where is he right now?”

“He’s at home, at my home. My apartment.”

“You’re not there with him?”

“No, I’m… shit,” he hissed, “I went back to the laundromat to get his stuff and he freaked when I came back, so I… I left again.”

“Why?”

“I… well, he was asleep before, I didn’t expect him to be awake, and that’s why… I mean I came out here because I freaked him out, to let him calm down. Should I go back?”

“Yes. Get back to him as soon as you can,” Katie sighed, sounding frustrated herself. “Zach, listen to me. He needs you to be there. He needs you to stay with him right now. Even if you messed up and it doesn’t seem like he wants you there.”

“I don’t know if I can do this,” he blurted heavily.

“Yes, you can. You’ve made so much progress with him,” she told him firmly. “He wants to trust you, I know he does.”

“Why should he?” Zach wavered. “He’s not going to trust me if I scare the shit out him like I just did. I’m such a fuck up. I shouldn’t be this for him. I don’t deserve him.”

“Zach, there are always going to be setbacks. Remember I told you he runs? There are going to be times when he loses faith in this. That’s the whole problem. The world isn’t perfect. You’re not perfect. He’s far from perfect. No one is perfect, ever. He needs to get it through his head that fucking up is okay, it can be forgiven, and he gets a pass. You do deserve him, and he deserves you. You’ve stuck with him longer than anyone I can even remember. You can do this.”

Zach wiped his eyes, took another deep breath and tried to center himself, starting to walk back. “What should I do?”

“Be there for him. Sometimes afterwards he shuts down and can’t find his words at all, and it won’t take much to send him back into an attack. Ask him what he needs, but don’t interrogate him if he isn’t answering you. Give him you if he wants company. And if he’s pushing you away, give him space, but not too much, just being there and quiet is enough. Let him sleep if he can, panic attacks of this magnitude are physically exhausting. And feed him, that idiot forgets to eat and he’s got a blood sugar thing that’ll make him worse in the long run. It might take him awhile, and he might swing up and down, but he’ll eventually come out of it. If you’re with him through it all, it will help you both get back to where you were before this. It’ll help him remember he trusts you, and it will help you get past this.”

“What if he doesn’t?” Zach feared. “What if he can’t after this?”

“You’ve gotten through to him before,” she insisted. “The only reason this seems worse now is because of how much closer you’ve gotten to him, how much he’s let you in. Keep giving him reasons to let you in.” She paused and he heard coffee pouring and sipping. “Look, I know this is hard. But he’s been through too many of these alone. This is why he doesn’t believe he can trust anyone. Not even himself. He’s his own worst enemy right now. He desperately needs an ally. He needs that raft, Zach.”

Zach nodded, remembering his little metaphor. Chris liked metaphors. “Okay. I’ll try.”

“Good,” she said, “Now, I’m going to text him to talk to his damn therapist today, even if he won’t talk to you. Hopefully that’ll help too.”

“Oh, okay. Uh,” he stammered, “Yeah, good. So, I mean, what do I owe you for this? I woke you up and everything.”

She snorted, “Consider this is your emergency freebie, Quinto. But I can recommend someone if you think you need it later on. Anybody dating my idiot brother probably needs some kind of therapy.”

“Right.” Zach found himself in front of his building again. “Okay. Thanks.”

“Zach,” she halted him. “Thank _you_. For caring.”

He let her hang up, staring up at the building for another few minutes and wiping his eyes dry. He had to do this. He was a damn adult, and he’d made this bed, now he had to sleep in it. He looked down at his phone again, shooting off a text to his supervisor and arranging to take the next couple of nights off.

Climbing the stairs, he took a deep breath to steel himself before he slowly pushed open his front door once again. Chris was nowhere to be seen, but the bathroom was still closed and locked. There weren’t any more sounds of crying from inside, but he could hear shifting from within, an indrawn breath. “I’m back, Chris,” he called softly through the door.

He turned around and put his back to it, sliding down to sit against the jamb on the floor. He focused on his own breathing, deeply in, back out through his mouth. He’d done yoga with an ex once, years ago for a few weeks. Didn’t get much from it but the breathing thing. Maybe he should take it up again.

“I woke up your sister,” he murmured, quiet but knowing Chris could hear through the flimsy door, “Needed somebody to give me a good kick in the ass. She’s good at it, you know? Probably why she does what she does.”

He didn’t expect an answer, so he took another deep breath and plunged on. “I’m so sorry, Chris. I never meant to lose it with you. It’s not your fault. None of this is your fault.” His eyes started to burn again, and he pushed his fingers and thumb into them with one hand, his voice straining. “I’m not mad at you. I’m mad at… the situation. At those assholes who set this off in the first place.” He shook his head, “Mostly I’m mad at myself. For getting upset and taking it out on you. I’m no better than they are. I’m really a self-absorbed prick, Chris, I always have been. I just… I never realized it until I met you. You make me better too, you know that? I need to be better for you. You deserve that much.”

He heard more movement, looking down to see a shadow move under the door. He could imagine—or at least hope—Chris might be leaning against its other side, listening to what he had to say. He pressed his hand against it, the same one he’d used before in anger. “I’m not going to leave again. I’ll just be here. I just… I want to be here. I’m with you, okay? Whenever you need me.”


	22. Chapter 22

Zach woke to bright daylight, disoriented to be on his couch and unsure of the time. A movement caught his eye near his feet; Chris was sitting on the carpet by the opposite end, staring back at him. Zach rubbed his eyes and raked his fingers through his hair, his voice raspy, “Were you watching me sleep?”

Looking like he wanted to shrink into the floor, Chris ducked his head guiltily.

“I don’t mind,” Zach murmured, lifting his arms over the sofa arm and pointing his toes in a stretch, looking down his body to find the afghan from the bedroom draped over him. He picked at the edge of the crochet, raising an eyebrow. Chris lifted his shoulders in reply, biting his lip and becoming very interested in the carpet fringe by his bare toes. A blush crawled across his cheeks.

Zach smiled. He didn’t need a blanket, not with this LA heat in the middle of the day, but it counted for something. He worried his lip with his teeth. “Are we okay? Last night…” he wandered off as Chris sniffed, turning fully away and pulling his knees up tighter to his chest, looking more embarrassed than anything.

Sitting up, Zach swung his feet to the floor with a yawn. There were so many questions he was dying to ask. _Did you sleep okay? How are you feeling? Do you need anything? Do you forgive me? Can we get past this?_ It was difficult not to want to push, to talk, to make this go somewhere immediately. Zach was not a patient man, not when things weren’t going his way. 

His stomach rumbled, reminding him he hadn’t eaten dinner. He stood and headed for the kitchen, pulling out a shallow bowl and a frying pan, and retrieved the groceries he’d bought earlier from the fridge. With the pan on the stove and a lump of butter melting, he cracked a few of the eggs in the bowl, adding a splash of the almond milk, a shake of cinnamon, nutmeg and a dash of vanilla before whipping it all up with a fork.

He was peripherally aware of Chris when he silently appeared, hovering in the doorway between the rooms, watching every move he made. He enjoyed it, the same way he liked Chris watching him sleep, surreptitious glances across the scrabble board, on his rooftop, or watching him touch himself on FaceTime. It made him feel good, wanted.

“I’m not much of a cook,” he said, shooting a quick smile in Chris’ direction, “But I helped my mom make french toast on school mornings enough times.” He soaked the bread in the egg on both sides, then lay it quickly in the now sizzling pan, grabbing a spatula from the drawer and twirling it as he looked back over, “Want some?”

The corners of Chris’ mouth turned up, his eyes looking hopeful as he took a hesitant step closer. Zach grinned and dipped another piece of bread. Soon he had four thick golden slices, pulling down some mismatched plates and digging a dusty squeeze bottle of syrup from the back of a cabinet. He gave it a rinse off, grabbed some forks and brought it all back to the living room to settle cross-legged on the floor at his coffee table. He wasn’t much for hosting company, he realized, but Chris didn’t seem to mind, sitting opposite and taking the offered syrup to drizzle over his plate.

“I should have gotten some blueberries for you,” Zach said, just to get another hint of a smile from Chris’ chewing mouth. He cut out a steaming sweet square from his own plate and speared it. “How’s your stomach?”

The fork hit Chris’ plate with a sharp plink, his eyes crawling the surface of his food as he pointedly swallowed his bite, tension heavy through his shoulders. Zach cringed, mentally kicking himself. Chris was eating, obviously he felt okay. And he needed to eat, Katie had insisted on that. “Sorry. I just… tell me to shut up. Shut up, Zach, you’re an insensitive prick.”

His self-scripting managed to bring Chris’ shoulders back down, eyes flashing a little amusement as he slowly cut another piece with the side of his fork. As many quiet middle-of-the-night breakfasts they’d shared after laundry, this almost felt normal, even though the setting was off, sound of Darcy’s humming absent and the midday light nearly blinding to night owl eyes.

Chris looked different in the daylight. In Zach’s own faded tee, his skin was the typical pale of those who haunt the pre-dawn hours, spattered with freckles. His hair was a dusty chestnut, the overlong shag softly curling at the back of his neck and around his ears. His eyes had the shadows underneath of chronic sleeplessness, lined with lashes the same dusky brown as the soft stubble on his jaw. They were pink-rimmed to match his lips and the faint blush lingering over the bridge of his nose. He was astonishingly beautiful. Somewhere beneath this thick veil of fear, Zach knew there was man who was bright and funny and whip-smart. There were depths of intensity and a desperation for something, if he could just be allowed more than a passing glance under the damaged surface to find out what it was Chris needed.

Just a few nights ago, Zach had him here, on the rooftop playing word games and smiling so bright the sunrise could hardly compete. He had to fight for this. He had been so damn close to that wide golden sea at the bottom of Everest, he was sure of it. He couldn’t lose him now.

Zach had cleaned his plate and sat with his back against the sofa while Chris finished, careful not to watch him too closely and make him uncomfortable. The trill of a cell phone somewhere broke their easy silence, and it wasn’t one of Zach’s ringtones. Chris gasped, dropping the fork a second time as if the sound was a klaxon of impending danger. 

“I’ll go get it,” Zach offered, springing up quickly up to follow the sound into his bedroom. He found the phone on the bedspread, half under a pillow, but it cut off almost as soon as he reached for it. A moment later it popped up a name and number. Coming back out, he found Chris standing in the living room doorway, wide-eyed and body taut. 

“I didn’t catch it in time,” Zach gave an apologetic shake of his head, looking at it, “It was ‘Sofia’?”

Chris made a noise and covered his mouth, his brows knitting up. Zach could see the panic starting fresh right in front of him. “Hey, okay, can you sit? Do you need to sit?” Chris shook his head stiffly, stumbling forward and grasping with his free hand. “Do you need the bathroom?”

Zach preempted an answer by taking Chris’ hand and guiding him in that direction, ducking in with him before he got another door in the face. Chris slid down to the floor as the hyperventilating started, fisting his hair, staring fixedly at the toilet in front of him. Zach helpfully put the lid up, sitting on the floor opposite with his back against the sink cabinet.

“Okay, let’s just breathe, baby,” Zach tried to get back into helper mode, placing a careful hand on Chris’ exposed ankle. Chris shook his head, clamping his mouth shut. “You can, just in and out like always. Slow like a heartbeat.”

The phone rang again, and Chris gave a choked moan, his face clenching up tight. 

“Dammit,” Zach gritted, answering it himself. “Look, I don’t know what you want, Sofia, but—”

“Who is this?” the woman’s voice interrupted.

“This is Zach,” he snapped back. “Chris’ boyfriend.”

“Ah,” she answered. “Nice to finally meet you, Zach. I’m his therapist, and he should have been expecting my call.”

Chris lunged forward and buried his head in the toilet. Zach squeezed his eyes shut and clenched his molars together. It took everything he had not to run the fuck away from that awful sound, to turn and gently rub Chris’ back with his free hand. 

“Well, Sofia, he’s a little bit _indisposed_ at the moment,” he snarled, angry as a hornet at this woman, hoping she could hear as Chris loudly emptied his stomach. “I just got him to eat that, by the way.”

She sighed down the line. “I see. I’m sorry. I did text him earlier to prepare for a phone session at this time.”

“Well, he wasn’t exactly watching the clock, I guess he forgot,” Zach sassed right back.

“I suppose distraction is better than the usual,” she said nonchalantly. “Listen, Zach, you and I will have to have a chat sometime. Chris is used to this arrangement when he’s having an episode, however. I’m sure he just lost track of the time. I’ll give him… three hours from now to recover. If he doesn’t contact me by four o’clock this afternoon, I will be calling him. Once he’s swung back down, remind him, all right?”

“Fine,” Zach said curtly, bracing Chris’ body as he gasped and whimpered piteously, arms clutching cool porcelain.

“I am sorry he’s going through this,” she said again, markedly softer. “It’s been quite a while since he’s had a bad one. Some of that is due to you, you’ve really helped him come out of his shell. I hope one day we’ll talk under better circumstances.”

He swallowed his ire and hung up, still perturbed with her ‘no bullshit’ approach. Was that what Chris needed at moments like this, or was that just someone with a clinical dissociation talking? He didn’t like it, however much she might know what she was doing. She was a friend and colleague of Katie’s though, and he doubted Katie would steer her own baby brother wrong. 

And she knew of Zach, as if he was a subject of many conversations. Was it him that helped, or was Chris just helping himself? Did they talk about him a lot? What did they say? What kind of impression did this Sofia have of him?

Zach flushed the toilet and wet a washcloth, squatting down where Chris was curled in a shivering, panting fetal knot of limbs opposite the toilet. Gently, Zach wiped down his sweating brow, the big, heavy tears sliding down his cheeks, the back of his neck, his mouth. Darting out to the living room, he returned quickly with the afghan, tucking it around Chris before he sat back down next to him, shoulders touching in silent support until Chris’ breathing slowed and his eyes started to droop. His expression had turned vacant and tight once again, back to that broken state of barely functioning.

“Chris, let’s get you back to bed, okay?” Zach whispered, getting to his feet and offering a hand, “You should get some more rest, as long as you want. You’re safe here.”

Chris pulled himself to unsteady feet without assistance. Zach waited while he rinsed his mouth out and spit, and then walked with him back to the bedroom. He lay down and curled up immediately this time. Zach sat on the edge of the mattress just to make up for his own bad handling of before, adjusting the afghan to cover him better and rubbing his arm. “I’m putting your phone right here,” he offered, setting on the nightstand. “And I’ll be here, in the apartment. I promise you I won’t leave again, okay?”

Chris’ eyes flickered in his direction briefly. It was as good an answer as he could expect, a dismissal, and he tried not to let it get to him. Pulling the bedroom door mostly closed, he made himself clean up the dishes, and then collapsed back on his couch, his own body rebelling this interruption of his normal bartender’s night, yanked the curtain shut against the bitter midday and slept.

 

His regular workday alarm woke him at 3pm, but he lay on the sofa for several minutes disdaining the light, wanting to go back to sleep and get those interrupted hours back. A quick text verified his shift was covered, so he forced himself upright. In the kitchen, he toasted up a couple of slices of bread, spreading it with butter and brought the plate to the bedroom, tapping a knuckle lightly on the half-open door. Chris was already awake, sitting back on the pillows, his phone clutched in hand. Zach sat on the edge of the bed nibbling his own toast triangle and offered the plate out, then set it down on the bedspread when Chris just looked at it skeptically like it might be poisoned. 

“You should try to eat something,” Zach said when he finished. He’d dragged his laundry bag in with him and set about putting it away, giving him a reason to be in Chris’ presence. He separated out Chris’ cleaned clothes on the foot of the bed to be moved to his own bag. “Sofia said she would call you back at four,” he remembered, watching carefully. Chris merely lifted the phone, indicating he’d probably had a text to that effect. 

“Are you nervous to talk to her?” Zach asked, wanting answers about this therapist’s supposed methods. “Is it bad when… when you have an episode?” He tried out Sofia’s words for it, but they didn’t sit well in his mouth, and Chris didn’t answer. The way he pouted like a scolded toddler, his face flushed scarlet spoke volumes.

Zach turned back to his dresser, disguising a sigh. He hated the way Chris remained stubbornly non-verbal despite no longer being mid-panic. All it made him want to do was confront and push, to wring something out of him to satisfy his own insecurities. But he also knew he shouldn’t; all that would do was make Chris shut him out completely. He shuffled through his drawers, pulling out fresh underwear, cargos and a shirt. “I’m going to shower. Do you need the bathroom at all?” _Or will you?_ was the unspoken question.

Chris shook his head, eying him despondently and staying where he was. Zach hesitated, wanting to say something else, but failing to come up with anything that wouldn’t result in another mess. Instead he left as awkwardly as he’d come.

Going through his routine at least felt normalizing. Much better than the hasty sponge bath in his kitchen before, he brushed his teeth, shaved, pushed some product through his hair. He hung his towel beside the one Chris had used, then came out to take real stock of his kitchen. He had very little to make do with for more than one person: some ready rice, stale cereal, lime jello cups, boring frozen tv dinners he wouldn’t subject Chris’ sensitive tummy to. Pretty useless. He’d have to order in later. Chris would need to eat something more substantial than toast at some point, and so would he. Food always seemed like an ice breaker with Chris, providing he could keep it down.

He did some dusting and other long neglected cleaning up, searching for something to do. Ordinarily he’d go for a run or head to the gym around this time of day, visit with friends, maybe do some shopping. Halfway through wiping out his fridge, he heard the sharp sound of a door closing, making him jump a little as he poked his head out to see that the bedroom was now shut off. Why, he wasn’t sure, until he glanced at the clock: 4:15pm. He hadn’t heard a phone ring, couldn’t even hear any speaking, and wondered what was going on. Maybe Chris was texting his therapist instead? That seemed plausible, although he bet she’d expected him to use his words and not his thumbs at some point.

Zach shifted in place. He had principles, after all, the same principles that made him offer up his unused quarters in a laundromat, not read an exposed journal left in a public place to which he had no permission. _Lead me not into temptation_ or whatever. Catholic school had been both a blessing and a curse.

He’d never been a very good Catholic. He took several strides to the door, leaning close and holding his breath to listen. There was nothing for several minutes, no discernible sound until he heard, “Y-yeah, I’m here.” A long pause and a snivel. “It was so s-stupid.” A heavy exhale, then mumbled sentences he couldn’t quite make out, “I’m not, but so many… he saw everything… just now I was…taking up his time… so disgusted with me.”

That hit like a punch in the gut and Zach hightailed it back across the apartment to his couch, scrubbing clammy hands down the thighs of his cargo shorts. 

Was that the impression he was giving? That he was disgusted with this whole thing? He’d been puked on, yes, and it was disgusting, there was no way around that. He’d been angry and reactive and he’d had some pretty shitty thoughts right in the thick of everything. But he’d swallowed his considerable pride. He’d brought Chris here hoping to facilitate taking care of him, helping him through this. Had it been wrong? Did Chris think he was disgusted, and was just doing this out of some moral obligation? _Was_ he doing it out of moral obligation? He flinched, cowed that he’d just been grasping at straws to amuse himself since he wasn’t able to leave Chris alone.

Because he’d promised. Zach had promised Chris and his sister, who had told him so on more than one occasion that Chris needed him right now. He just… he wished Chris needed _him_ , not just his mere presence within a thirty foot radius. This wasn’t the same as taking care of someone with a cold, just apply tissues, warm blankets and chicken soup. He didn’t feel like he was doing anything for him just by occupying the same space. He wanted to offer more, to give of himself, but Chris was hardly receptive, he just seemed to want to be left alone. At least when Chris was mid-panic he was allowed to touch him, dry his tears, speak soothing nonsense. And there was his guilt yet again, at the very unspoken idea that he somehow preferred Chris in that needy, desperate state, which was the farthest thing from reality.

He forced himself to stay put, ears catching on the low undercurrent of Chris’ voice across the void, long pauses between the low murmurs, though he couldn’t make out the words from this side of the house and refused to encroach on his privacy again. It continued for maybe half an hour before the door opened again. He froze halfway to standing as he saw Chris edge out, dressed now in his own clothes and sparing him barely a surly glance before he grabbed for his bag, searching the pocket for the moleskine journal, then hauled the whole thing back into the bedroom. The door shut yet again, like a statement, and Zach gritted his teeth against the hollow in his gut. He flipped on the television, pulling the second afghan his mom had made him down from the top of the couch, though the weather was still the usual torrid LA sun, and settling in for long, chilly evening.

He was halfway into a terrible Lifetime movie and sadly more than halfway invested in its melodramatic plot due to his mood when his phone dinged.

_When do you go to work_

The lack of real punctuation from Chris felt terse, and Zach almost didn’t answer out of spite, wanting Chris to grow a pair, come out and ask him to his face.

_i took the night off._

No answer.

 _i said i wouldn’t leave you, i meant it,_ he typed. The silence felt scathing, and he was about to start bitching about it via text when, unexpectedly, the bedroom door opened. He stood to go toward it, but stopped upon seeing Chris standing there, the long forgotten empty plate in hand. Chris took it to the sink and rinsed it for far longer than a few toast crumbs warranted before he turned. His hands groped at his clothes and then crossed his chest as he looked shamefully at his toes. His eyebrows worked, teeth scraping his lip, and he looked so remorseful that Zach’s anger melted away.

“Are you hungry?” he asked, his own quiet voice sounding too loud. Chris, for his part, appeared to consider it seriously before he shook his head no. He probably was, having managed to keep down nothing but a couple pieces of toast since yesterday, but more than likely he was still unsure of his stomach’s ability to handle anything more.

“I’ve been watching this terrible tv movie,” he said, searching for anything to fill the cold silence. “This guy’s long-lost daughter shows up just when he’s bringing his wife home from a mental hospital after a nervous breakdown…” He blanched, shutting himself up immediately when Chris eyes came up with his chin, almost daring him to finish. Zach pressed his lips together and turned back into the living room, snapping the TV to a different channel. Some innocuous how-to-survive-the-apocalypse show or something.

“Want to just… hang out? Or play a game? I have travel Scrabble or… here,” He bent and pulled the chess set off a shelf underneath his DVDs. They’d taken it up on the roof a few times. They were both fair players, and it always got Chris smiling and looking smug when he was on a winning streak. “Chess? You can take white this time.”

Chris eyed him dubiously, weighing whatever pros and cons he’d have from being in the same room. Zach had the board unfolded and started setting the pieces on the coffee table before Chris finally moved to sit across from him.

It made them interact, at least, Chris watching and reacting to his moves. Zach wanted badly to talk, to assure him he didn’t think he’s disgusting, that he wanted him to be here and to help him, but even saying so would betray his eavesdropping. He wondered what Sofia had talked to him about, if she’d brought him around to seeing reason.

Chris moved a bishop to threaten Zach’s remaining rook, but which left him vulnerable to Zach’s own bishop on the on the other side of the board. It was a fairly easy move to destabilize his play, but Zach simply moved one of his pawns, thinking about what other ways he could approach talking this out. Chris sat back, looking across at him with an unreadable expression. 

“You sure you aren’t hungry?” Zach tried, glancing at the time, now pushing 8pm. “I could order us a pizza or something.”

Shaking his head, Chris played his queen from her starting place, an aggressive move on his last rook, which she’d probably take in another move and his knight in another if he didn’t do something about it. Because Zach’s head wasn't in it, he just moved his bishop to collect one of Chris’ pawns, wanting to prolong the game.

“Don’t.”

The word made Zach start, it was so unexpected. Chris hadn’t spoken so much as a peep since yesterday, not to him. He looked up, seeing tight lines of anger clenching Chris’ jaw, eyes sparking as he pushed away from the table and stalked off. “Chris, what? What did I do?”

The bedroom door slammed shut, and Zach threw his hands in the air in complete confusion, his own anger simmering back to the surface. He shoved it viciously down before his phone chimed a message.

_Don’t fucking let me win._

Zach frowned, _i wasnt_.

_You were. Don’t act out of some misguided sense of pity. I don’t need to be told what I should do, how I should feel. You don’t have to ask my permission if you want to get food. Stop with the kid gloves. I’m a grown ass man._

“Well, sometimes you don’t act like it,” Zach breathed to himself, and immediately felt a lead blanket of awful drop over him. “Fuck you Zach, shut up.”

The phone pinged again. _There’s a difference between supporting and babying me. If you’re doing this shit out of pity, we are done._

Zach jaw nearly hit the floor with his heart.

“Chris,” he called, getting up and crossing the apartment to the bedroom in record time. Of course it was locked. “Chris, open the door. Please. You can’t say shit like that and not let me answer you to your face, dammit.”

He balled up his fist and pounded it on his own thigh, willing down his quick temper in the wake of a more prominent emotion. “Chris, please. Please open the door. I’m not mad… I’m just scared, okay? You’re scaring me. Please. _Please!_ ”

The door lock clicked, and he stared at it for several seconds before he grasped the knob and pushed it open. Chris was already across the room, the bed in-between them, arms crossed over his chest, breathing hard and face red, not with embarrassment or tears. He was righteously pissed off, hunching his shoulders but shifting from foot to foot like a caged animal. His eyes darted to the open door, tracking an escape route. Zach’s heart was pounding, falling to his knees on the foot of his bed.

“I’m sorry,” he tried, putting his hands out, palms up. “I am sorry. If I’m… if I’m doing anything that seems like that, you have every right to call me out.”

Chris stilled on his feet, but he remained a tight ball of tension, eyes wary and mouth a tight line, breath heaving in his chest.

“If I was babying you, pitying you just now, I didn’t know, it wasn’t conscious,” Zach continued, sitting back on his heels, at a loss, “I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing, Chris. But I’m trying. I’m trying to do it right, but it’s hard when I don’t know what you need from me. I want to help you, but I don’t what you need. And… all I want to do is hold you and let you cry and tell you you’re safe. I don’t think you’re any less of a man for it, don’t you get that, baby?” He winced at the inappropriate endearment as it fell from his lips. “I’m trying to give you everything you need, but I… I need something too, you know? I need to know I’m not hurting you. And I don’t know that, I’m so afraid I’m doing something wrong. I need to be held too, and cry and get the fuck over myself and be told it’s okay, and _know_ that we’re in this together, you and me, equally. I need that. Please, Chris. Please let me help.”

Chris’ arms drop to his sides, eyes wide and filling up again, tears he slapped angrily away. He let out a noise and crawled over the bed, grabbing Zach and hauling him in with startling strength. He clung so tightly Zach could only wrap his own arms around and gasp into Chris’ hair against the rib-cracking grip. “Oh my God. Oh God, Chris.”

He tipped them over, scooting them both up to the pillows, wriggling to his back and clutching Chris just as tightly, bringing his hand up to his hair and inhaling, feeling the wet of Chris’ tears against his neck and shoulder. “It’s okay,” he found himself muttering, “This is okay, you know that? We need this. We both need this, right? Oh God, I’ve wanted to just hold you so much, you know that?” Chris gasped against him, starting to shake, throwing himself into an attack all over again, trying desperately to fight it. Zach rubbed his back, held him tight. “It’s okay, sweetie, let go. I’ve got you. You’ve got me too.” 

When Chris let out a heavy sob, Zach found tears in his own eyes. “You’re so brave to let me do this. I need this too. Need you to hold me like this. You’re so strong.”

He kept up his litany of soothing words, arms gripping tight, no longer the fleeting ghost of Chris but an onslaught of him, warm and solid against his own body from neck to knees. His hair smelled of Zach’s own shampoo, the round of his nose pressed under Zach’s jaw, breath hot and moist against his neck, hands clenching in his shirt in attempt to still violent shudders. Zach could feel the fight in him, the racing of Chris’ heart, the tremble of his muscles, warring against this irrational danger his mind was convinced he was in. It was so futile and Chris knew it, hated it, raged against it.

“Just breathe,” Zach heard himself murmuring softly, his hand over Chris’ on his own heart. “In and out with me. You’re not alone anymore. You don’t have to fight this by yourself.”

Gradually, Chris’ sobs hitched to snivels, his short, sucking gasps to full, if shaky breaths. His body grew limp and heavy and his grip relaxed, but didn’t release. This time when the fight was over, Zach had Chris in his arms, not about to let him go. They lay there for a long time in the quiet, hands gently stroking Chris’ back up and down, feeling his breath and the sticky damp of his tears soaked into his shirt, the butterfly kiss of his eyelashes telling him Chris was awake, but blissfully not pulling away.

“You okay?” he whispered into Chris’ hairline.

Chris heaved a deep, lung-filling breath and nodded. “Tired.”

“That sucked,” Zach commented, “I don’t like it when we fight.”

Chris gave a huff that might pass for a laugh. “Me neither.”

“Let’s not do that again.”

“M’kay.”

Zach smiled a little. Slurred, muddled words were better than nothing.

“I scared you?”

Zach held his breath, “Yeah.”

“I’m sorry.” 

Chris tensed up, guilt and fear curling in him, but Zach tightened his grip, wouldn’t let him get away. “It’s okay,” he pressed on, wanting to clarify. “I don’t want to lose this. When you don’t let me in, that’s what scares me.”

They were quiet for a time before Chris spoke again, his voice rough. “She was right.”

“Mm? Who?”

“Sofia,” Chris murmured, his words slow to string together, “I didn’t want you to… deal with this. See me. Like, you thought you had to, even though I’m pathetic, disgusting. She said you’d… feel useless… that I was pushing you away.”

“I did,” Zach answered honestly, holding him close. “I did feel that way. But I’ll never think you’re disgusting. It wasn’t fun for either of us, but you didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I did,” Chris hid his face tighter in his neck. “I didn’t trust you.”

Zach heaved a sigh. “Okay. But for the record, trusting people is really hard. I don’t think I’d trust me either. I…” He squeezes Chris pointedly, “I have to earn it from you. Will you help me do that?”

Chris squirmed to look at him with red, half-lidded eyes, “How?”

“I didn’t know what to do. I still don’t. I need to learn to be here for you, the right way,” Zach told him, determined. “Can you teach me?”

Sighing, Chris rolled his heavy head against Zach’s shoulder, “I don’t know.”

Zach nudged their foreheads together and reveled in the closeness. “Help me understand how you feel. Talk to me.”

“Feels like… I’m underwater. Just gets deeper and deeper, sinking,” Chris mumbled, clearly exhausted, “Like I’m sinking in the ocean. So much pressure, can’t breathe. I’m dying, there’s no one else.”

“You’re not though,” Zach whispered back, “You have a raft.” Chris’ brows gathered, frowning in confusion, and Zach kissed the crease there.

“Me, sweetie. I’ll always be your lifeboat.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is one of the longest and hardest chapters of this, I think. I had no idea where I was going when I started this fill in the kinkmeme, or how personal it would end up feeling to me. But now I can say with some confidence that these boys are turning a corner, and it will be wrapping up in the next few chapters. I hope you enjoy it to the end!


	23. Chapter 23

The warm body Zach woke spooned around squirmed out of his grasp, stumbling out of the bedroom. The apartment was dark, even with the bleed of the city from the windows, and he heard a thump and a stifled curse as Chris made his way in unfamiliar territory. 

Rolling to his back, Zach resisted the urge to follow, listening to the movement of another in his space. He heard the telltale sound of Chris peeing, the running of the faucet, longer than typical for washing hands, but thankfully no fearful noises. Chances were high Chris wouldn’t come back to the bed, and Zach was now wide awake. It was the middle of the night, which was the middle of the day for them, and this felt like sleeping past noon, the way he had as a teenager. He scrubbed both hands over his face, tugging at the clothes twisted awkwardly around his body as he lugged himself up. He slowly stepped into the light of the open bathroom to see Chris leaning on his hands on the sink top, his face flecked with drops of water. His eyes cut to Zach in the reflection.

“Dehydrated?” he asked, leaning against the threshold. Chris turned around, lifting his shoulders, sleepy-eyed and hair endearingly messy. Zach headed into the kitchen to pull down two glasses, filling both at the faucet. Chris had predictably followed, accepting the offered glass and draining it quickly while Zach downed his own.

“Are you hungry?” he tried next, hitching a wry grin when Chris looked at him sidelong, brows quirked at how repetitive the question was becoming. “Your sister was pretty insistent about me feeding you. Eventually you’re gonna have to say yes, right?” He pulled open the fridge, largely because it was right there and he’d already forgotten there wasn’t much to be had in it. Except…

“Aha!” He lit up, pulling out treasures in the form of lime jello cups, “Yummy childhood goodness and no actual nutritional content to annoy sensitive tummies.” He grabbed two spoons from the drawer, holding one out with a lurid green cup. 

Chris bit his lip over a soft smile and accepted, peeling the foil lid back. They ate it standing against the counters, the scrape of spoons against plastic and the slurp of sweet gelatin the only sounds. After tossing the empty cups, they stood awkwardly, still afraid of making a wrong move. Zach watched Chris where he leaned against the opposite counter for any sign of what came next. Chris fidgeted, watching Zach from the corner of his eye, probably waiting for the same.

Finally Zach gave a giggle and a headshake at this standoff. “We’re just a mess, aren’t we?” Chris lifted his eyes, and Zach went for broke and spread his arms open, wide and beckoning. A blush spread across Chris’ cheeks as he shifted his feet, then took the few steps across the narrow galley into them with a deep sigh.

Zach squeezed his eyes shut at the warm reality of Chris leaning into him, his arms tentatively going around his waist and and tucking his face in the crook of his shoulder. He turned his head to nuzzle against his ear, “For the record, hugs are always available, absolutely whenever you want.”

Chris gave a breath of amusement, but then went still, the shoulders under his hands tensing up by degrees as Zach felt fingers tightening in his shirt. “Talk to me, sweetie,” he whispered. “What is it?”

Taking a deep breath, Chris lifted his head, but his eyes couldn’t make it all the way, focusing instead on Zach’s collar. “B-before,” he stuttered, “Ev-ery time before. Last night too. I w-want this, b-but. It-it’ll happen.”

It took a minute to parse what Chris meant. “When we’re close like this, you mean?” he clarified, “You don’t want to panic because we’re touching?”

Chris nodded, looking ashamed as he stepped fully back and rubbed at his arms. It suddenly made a lot of sense. These last few months, Zach had been careful to respect Chris’ boundaries, not wanting to cause another attack. He’d thought maybe Chris had been tolerating the spare touches and handholding, perhaps allowing it with a degree of discomfort. Now it was clear Chris craved it, but was avoidant as an act of self-preservation.

It broke his heart, wondering just how long Chris’d gone without any sort of physical contact that it had gotten to this point. He was so touch-starved, yet so overwhelmed by the prospect. Last night had been a leap of faith, perhaps because he knew he’d been on the brink anyway. The fact that he’d chosen to do so in Zach’s arms that time instead of hiding was a breakthrough.

“Okay,” he murmured, gently taking Chris’ hand. “Come with me?”

He led him to the living room, leaving the lamp off as the kitchen light gave enough of a warm glow to see each other by. He cleared away their ill-fated chess game and pushed the coffee table out of the way. Sitting sideways and cross-legged on the sofa, he beckoned Chris to do the same in front of him, the way they always did on the rooftop. They’d spent plenty of hours like this up there, face to face, holding hands between them and playing word games.

“Okay,” he said, once Chris was in position, hands already brushing between them. “This game is called ‘Free Rein’.

Chris’s gaze held an amused glint, aware ninety percent of Zach’s games were completely pulled out of his ass. There was a key difference in this game, however.

“And the way it works,” he continued his explanation, “Is from this moment onward, you, Christopher Pine, are hereby granted an all access pass to the entire Quinto experience.”

Chris’ eyes flickered doubtfully in the dim light, waiting for a catch.

“Don’t jump on all at once, I know it’s a wild ride,” he deadpanned.

“Jesus,” Chris blurted a giggle.

Zach grinned, letting his fingers play up under Chris’ hands. “Seriously though, you can touch me. In any way you want to, as much or as little you feel comfortable with. And if you can’t, if you feel overwhelmed, you can stop.”

Chris looked down at their hands. “What… what about you? What d-do you get?”

“I get the privilege of anything you’re willing to give me,” he answered softly, honestly, tilting his head to try to catch his eyes and drive the point home, “You can’t possibly disappoint me.”

“Last n-night…” Chris frowned, “Y-you needed… You s-s-said you needed…”

Ah, there was a hitch in Zach’s plan after all. “You’re right. But last night,” he paused to think, “We didn’t know we both needed to push each other’s boundaries a little more. Now we know.”

Chris nodded anxiously. “Wh-what—” he swallowed, his tongue darting across his lips, “W-what if I p-p-p-anic a-g-gain?”

Zach stroked his palms lightly, soothingly, “If you panic, I’ll pull you in anyway and hold you and help you remember to breathe until it’s over. It helped last night, right?” He got a tentative nod. “Good. It helped me too. So, reciprocity. You’re allowed, you always were.”

Chris lifted his eyes like he needed visual confirmation of Zach’s words. He smiled in invitation. “Whenever you’re ready. Or if you’re not, that’s okay, we’ll just sit and watch infomercials, whatever.” He leaned over to flick on the tv for a mild distraction.

It seemed superfluous on the surface. Chris had certainly always had the permission in Zach’s book, but this was about getting him to feel safe doing it. He didn’t even know if it would help, but Zach knew there must be some sort of fundamental disconnect somewhere in Chris’ head. He wanted this, and in times of extreme stress beyond his trigger point, it helped him to override his personal space. It was as if the idea of touching or being touched was more frightening than the contact itself. Chris ultimately feared doing anything wrong, disappointing anyone, failing in some way. If Zach was simultaneously a fear motivator and the safe space he’d worked so hard to become, then what he wanted was to allow Chris to cross out those negative associations on his own terms.

Chris drew in a chest-deep breath, letting his hands grip Zach’s. That was comfortable, familiar. They knew each other’s hands. Chris’ were large, square palmed and nails bitten down short. He had a callous on the edge of his right thumb and one on the side of his middle finger, souvenirs of playing guitar and a lifetime of holding a pen too tightly as he furiously wrote longhand. Sometimes his palms were hot and clammy, but tonight they were warm and dry.

The moment stretched, but it was paramount that he didn’t let it get to him or show any frustration with a lack on Chris’ part. When he yawned, Chris’ eyes darted back up to his face, nervous as Zach stifled it. “Sleeping so much makes me lazy,” he explained, stroking up over Chris’ wrists and back under. “I slept pretty well though, with you next to me.”

It might have been a little bit of a push, and Chris slid his teeth over his lip with a blush, barely discernible in the dim light. Tentatively, he pushed his own fingers higher, brushing at the dark hair on Zach’s forearms. When that elicited no negative response, he kept going, turning Zach’s wrist to see the way it grew and changed direction. Zach grinned. Was there a fascination here?

“I didn’t want to get up,” Chris eventually whispered, like a confession. He lifted his hand, letting his fingers push through the soft hair on Zach’s forearms, then smooth it back down the direction it grew. “I wanted to stay. I want to—”

He drew another stabilizing breath, then lifted up on his knees, hands on Zach’s shoulders giving a little push. His face reflected the surprise Zach felt, bordering on fear at being so bold. But Zach took it as a cue, unfolding his legs and leaning back prone against the sofa arm, unsure what would happen next but going with it. Chris chewed his lip for a moment, then carefully crawled over, into the nook of space between the cushions and Zach’s body. He helpfully lifted his arm, letting Chris fit against him. Their legs tangled together, and Chris’ free hand found Zach’s again, resting on his chest above where his heart thudded hard against his ribs. Chris let out a nervous, heavy breath and pushed his face in the crook of Zach’s neck.

Suppressing a laugh, Zach rubbed Chris’ shoulder soothingly. “Well, that was certainly brave.”

Chris shivered, his breathing hitching and slowing by turns as he fought to calm himself. The innocuous AM movie on the television offered little interest, but sucked up the time as Chris’ nervous trembling gradually slowed. 

It was amazing how easily Zach had taken for granted simple closeness, the ability to just hold someone he wanted when he hadn’t had the privilege for so long. The smell of Chris' hair right under his nose and their fingers tangling, the feeling of his warm breath against his throat, it made up for so much waiting and longing, and it felt so perfect he didn’t ever want to move. The movie slid into some early morning Judge Judy knock-off as the sun came up, with Chris draped over him and drifting in the euphoria of their small success. 

When Chris’ stomach gave a demandingly loud gurgle, Zach started giggling. “Okay. Now I’m not taking no for an answer. Let me up, I have a bunch of take-out menus around here somewhere.”

Chris pulled fully back, looking rumpled and a little ashamed. Zach stood and reached for his hand to tug him up as well, “That wasn’t ‘we’re done’, by the way. The game doesn’t end, remember? Ever.” 

He found his stack of take-out menus, a few minutes later he was on his phone ordering breakfast sandwiches for two from the bagel place, while Chris retrieved his own from the bedroom and became engrossed in texting someone.

Zach watched him from across the kitchen once he’d finished his order. When Chris caught him, he looked down at the linoleum, a sheepish blush spreading down his own face. Chris could text with anyone, it wasn’t his business, it was just… he’d kind of thought the only person Chris really texted with was him. 

He looked back up when he heard a light snort. “Katie,” Chris spoke, his low voice always a surprise when he’d been quiet for awhile.

“Oh,” Zach laughed. Of course she’d check up on her little bro. Probably making sure Zach was behaving himself and not fucking it all up again.

The plate from yesterday's toast still sat in his sink, as well as the jello spoons, and he made himself wash them to put his needy hands to work. After a minute, he felt the warmth of Chris close at his back, arms coming around his waist again as he pressed his face into Zach’s nape to inhale. Smiling, Zach leaned into it as he finished, drying his hands and turning to face him, “You like this game.” Chris nodded, settling more comfortably as Zach leaned back against the sink. Breakthrough accomplished. “I like it too.”

They stayed there until the door buzzed, making Chris jump and back off. Zach searched out his wallet and opened the door to a delivery guy who was entirely too chatty while Chris retreated to the living room. Zach tipped him out the door as hurriedly as possible, shutting it behind him to rescue their quiet sanctuary.

Once again cross-legged at the coffee table, they ate a quiet breakfast, bagels piled with egg, cheese and bacon occupying their mouths. Zach was pleased to see Chris devour his whole plate, much needed food bringing some color back to his face. Now they just need to keep it where it belonged. 

“Want to go for a walk?” Zach asked, after crumpling up their trash and washing two more plates. They’d been cooped up inside for a full day and night, and the pair of them rarely saw daylight anyway, it might do them good to spend a little time in the sun. Chris agreed to a little trek around the neighborhood, and after locating shoes, keys and wallets, they headed out, squinting into the early bright morning. It struck Zach how muddy his sense of time was from sleeping such odd hours; it was now just Wednesday morning. It seemed much longer since everything went down so badly.

They turned decidedly away from the direction of the Wash & Spin, heading instead to the nearby park. Chris stumblingly managed to say he often jogged here in the dead of night, and Zach laughed to find out in passing that they also went to the same 24 hour neighborhood gym, just never on the same day or the right time to cross paths.

The city was beginning to wake up around them, and Chris pointed to the local coffeeshop starting to mill with people.

As they waited in line with groups chattering before and after, Zach slowly became aware of the change in Chris’ demeanor. He scrubbed his palms down the thighs of his jeans, stretching his fingers and clenching them, concentrating on taking carefully measured breaths. Then he remembered: Chris had a daily task here, one he struggled with, one Zach’s witnessing probably made significantly more difficult.

When they’d arrived at the counter, Zach made his own order, with a slice of lemon blueberry bread on the side, sliding his cash over. “I’ll wait for you over there,” he pointed to a small table in the corner.

Chris’ mouth gave a grateful hitch as Zach scooted away, watching from a distance while Chris stammered through his order, trying desperately to ignore the businessman huffing and checking his watch in line behind him. At least the barista smiled patiently through it. He could imagine others weren’t so accommodating during a rush, which probably had a dramatic effect on Chris’ success rate.

He smiled when Chris joined him with his cup, letting out a deep breath as he sat, and pushed the slice of blueberry bread between them to share. They could push boundaries, sure, but Zach was willing to take some and leave some for Chris’ sake.

The rest of the day progressed in a similar fashion. It still felt disjointed, being awake when they ought to be sleeping, but they’d would need to reset somehow. Zach had taken tonight off of work as well, and after yesterday’s turmoil, today’s almost domestic calm with Chris here in his house, sharing meals and comfortable quiet, it felt almost a like a little vacation. After returning to the apartment, they sat together again, shoulder to knee and fingers playing, watching a few hours worth of morning cooking shows go by and enjoying each other’s closeness.

Later, when Chris had gotten up and wandered away, Zach made himself open his laptop to answer emails and catch up on things he’d neglected recently instead of trailing on his heels like a puppy. He was strongly aware of Chris shutting himself in the bathroom for awhile, pausing to listen, but there were only sounds of washing and teeth brushing.

Soon he returned, toting his ubiquitous journal with him. Sitting opposite Zach on the sofa, he propped it open on his knee and started writing. He seemed to fill a page every minute, turning to the next and continuing, sometimes furiously scratching things out, occasionally pausing to gaze out the windows, or at Zach across from him with strange expressions on his face. The idea that Zach himself was the subject of this intensive writing session made him feel bubbly inside.

Eventually Zach had to get up to pee, brushing his own teeth and fussing with his hair before he was struck with an idea and retrieved his banjo from the bedroom, bringing it back to the couch. He faffed for a little while, tuning it, working through a few scales and warm ups. When he had the full weight of Chris’ curious eyes on him, he picked out a simple version of _You Are My Sunshine_ , earning one of Chris’ brilliant smiles.

“You wanna try it?” he grinned, holding the banjo out. Chris set his journal aside and scooted over, taking the instrument and turning it over in his hands, looking at the resonator and the inset detailing with interest before he settled it into a playing position. He knew his chords well enough, but was tripped up completely by the lack of an additional string and different tuning. The sound that came out was not exactly desirable.

“It’s different from guitar. You pluck with your fingers and thumb, like this,” Zach scooted close, halfway behind him to reach over and demonstrate, “And you can pick up or down. It’s harder with just fingers, I have the picks in my case.” Chris watched his fingers and gave it a try, but his big square fingers still bumped more than one string at a time, messing up the tone. Chris winced and Zach laughed, “Sounds like me at the beginning.”

Chris tried it out several times, managing something close to the same simple tune Zach had played, looking over his shoulder for Zach’s reaction. They were so close now, like it was natural and easy, no tension or nerves crawling under the surface. Chris’ eyes fell to Zach’s mouth, and before he could even think, Chris was leaning in, meeting him with soft, surprisingly purposeful lips, and it was Zach that froze as they parted.

Chris’s eyes were wide, brilliant blue just inches away, poised like he was waiting. Zach had no idea what to do, other than precisely _not_ the thing he wanted to do. Chris stared back and blinked, took a breath in, let it out, warm against Zach’s lips. Nothing else happened. No panic.

Chris swayed forward again, kissing firm and chaste, longer this time. Zach returned it, his heart pounding, and he swallowed half a noise as Chris opened his mouth to breathe and kissed harder, pausing again with his forehead resting against Zach’s temple.

“So…” Zach whispered into the space between them, still pressed half against Chris’ side and his back. Chris sucked in another breath, set the banjo on the coffee table and turned to face him, his eyes glued to Zach’s mouth, darting his tongue over his lips, and with another moment’s hesitation he put both hands on Zach’s cheeks and kissed him again.

The first tentative hint of tongue had Zach exhaling hard as he opened to him, viciously stamping down on his own impulses to grab and attack with all the lust he felt. This was so beyond his usual MO, sitting back and letting Chris take the lead, answering his careful approach with invitation. When Chris huffed a deep breath and pulled back, his eyes snapped open—when had he closed them?—to see if the panic was starting.

Chris seemed to be taking internal stock as well, searching for whatever was the first sign that shit was about to go badly, his hands sliding from Zach’s face to his shoulders.

“You okay?” Zach dared to breathe, hoping just the mere mention wouldn’t set off alarm bells. But instead, Chris’ eyes found his again, smiled and then lunged.

Zach ended up on his back with a lapful of enthusiastic Chris. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d spent ages making out under someone on a couch until his lips were swollen and raw; he’d been a teenager, probably. Chris was warm and heavy and fantastic and could kiss like a fucking pro now that he’d apparently hit a stride. 

When he drew back to gasp hotly into Zach’s neck, he was breathing heavily himself, hands smoothing up and down over Chris’ t-shirt. It was impossible to tell where Chris was inside his head, whether he was simply taking a break or falling headlong into fear again, but Zach sincerely hoped it was the former.

He lifted a hand up to Chris’ hair, soft as silk in his fingers. He pushed the pads up through it to Chris’ scalp, rubbing circles. Chris made a noise that could have been a moan, could have been bad or good, until Zach felt a little wetness and suction on his earlobe and let out a whine of his own. When Chris pulled back, his eyes were shining with mischief, biting his puffy lips against a grin.

“Now you’re just showing off,” Zach growled, hands wanting badly to grab and yank at that shaggy hair, his ass, anything really that would give him more of this. He’d been rock hard what felt like forever, and Chris was too, he was sure, nudged hotly into his hip. He scritched his fingers again, blinking up with a shaky breath, “Are you—” _okay? good? gonna flip out?_ He couldn’t quite find the right words.

Chris leaned down to kiss him again in answer, trailing from his lips down over his stubbly chin and to his neck, shifting in what could have been just a bid for more traction, but it felt unbelievably good.

“Oh God, Chris,” Zach blurted, his own hips bucking up and legs spreading to let Chris drop between them. Chris hissed and moved again, the scrape of his jeans exquisite against Zach’s cargos, and the sound Chris’ panting against his jaw wild and desperate, big hands twisting in his clothes. Zach hadn’t gotten off with anything more than his hand for six months with Chris in his mind, this was driving him crazy.

“Chris, whatever you want, just please, _please_ ,” he babbled, gripping tightly to get more friction while trying to work a hand in between to free himself. He let go when Chris’ hand was there fighting with his own fly, moving back to push and shove denim down and off that spectacular ass, a glance down over Chris’ shoulder making him gasp as it fit in his palms and clenched, and then there was hot skin on skin and hair and wet and friction and Chris’ mouth on his cheek, gasping, sobbing, shouting out.

When the white spots behind his eyelids had cleared, he went through a mental check list. Armful of sated deadweight boyfriend, hot damp breaths against his neck: check. Wet, sticky shirts between heaving bellies: check. He looked down. Beautiful bubble butt still in hand: bonus points. He breathed a little laugh, pushing his nose into Chris’ hair, “Hey, baby. You alright?” Chris garbled a noise that vaguely indicated he was alive and well, and Zach laughed again, “Yeah. I get that.”

They lay there and dozed until he felt Chris stir, making a face at the sticky way they pulled apart, his chestnut hair all over the place. “Shaggy,” Zach chuckled again, ruffling it as they sat up, explaining, “That was what I called you when didn’t know your name.”

Chris pushed his hands through it, achieving a terribly attractive windswept bedhead, “Don’t like getting haircuts,” he rasped, tugging at the wet front of his shirt and pulling his jeans up so he could walk.

The panic, when it finally came, was almost a belated reaction, an afterthought, once they’d pulled themselves up and to the bathroom, shucking soiled clothes and wiping up. Zach made an offhand comment about needing to do laundry again as they changed to pajamas, and Chris balked, hands grasping and searching until Zach caught them, going from warm and loose to pale and shaking in his arms. He fought for breath against Zach’s shoulder as he led him swiftly to the bedroom. There were a few tears, a minute or two of gasping sobs, and then he calmed, body going limp once again by Zach’s side on the bed.

“‘M sorry,” he slurred, shame heavy in his words.

Zach stroked his hands over his skin, soothing. “I know. You don’t have to be sorry.”

Chris’ damp eyelashes tickled as he blinked, lying quiet for several more minutes before he whispered, his voice raspy and slow. “I haven’t… with anyone. For years. Like eight years.”

Zach couldn’t help his surprise and his sadness. Eight years without so much as a touch from anyone else? He gathered him closer. “I’m so lucky.”

Chris just sniveled doubtfully. “I dunno why you put up with me.”

It wasn’t the first time he had said something to this effect. More often than not it was in writing, in an email or a rhetorical, self-deprecating text that Zach could dismiss and ignore. And even then, Zach wouldn’t have had the answer. He didn’t even know he had it until the last day or so, but in hindsight it should have been obvious.

“Because I love you,” Zach whispered into his hair. He felt Chris go absolutely still in his arms and jogged him gently, “Please don’t be scared. I want you to know. If I didn’t, I would have bailed a long time ago. And I can’t. I don’t want to.” He tipped Chris’ chin up with two fingers to get his eyes, wide and watery, and stroked at his cheek, “You don’t have to do anything. You don’t have to say it. All you have to do is remember, that’s why. Even when things are bad, even when we fuck up, I want to be here. I’m so lucky to be here.”


	24. Chapter 24

Descending Mount Everest did not mean the long hike was over, that Chris was cured, and there would be no more fear and misunderstanding. There wasn’t a vast golden plain at the bottom, it didn’t work that way. There were craggy broken foothills and a maze of canyons, raging rivers and deep pools, calm on the surface but dangerously cold and dark beneath. Plenty of places to drown.

But for Zachary the Intrepid Explorer, discovering this fact only made him more determined to carry Chris through every danger on his shoulders. Metaphorically. Maybe he was milking it too much.

The thing was, it turned out Chris had an independent streak, and he wanted to walk on his own two feet.

When Chris came to him on the third day after a shower and change of clothes, scrubbing his palms down his jeans and looking wary, Zach smiled softly up from his perch on the couch, ready to take on whatever dark fear was manifesting this time.

“I n-need t-to…” he stumbled over his words, “I n-eed to go ho-ome.”

“Okay,” Zach nodded, setting his kindle aside (a biography Chris had recommended) and slapping his thighs to stand up, “I’ll walk over with you.”

But Chris shook his head, chewing his lip and eyes finding the floor, “A-alone.”

Zach’s heart flip-flopped with dread. Chris was back to nerves and stuttering, fidgeting and fearful, and that didn’t make sense, not after the last day and night of closeness and mutual comfort they’d had. They’d finally gotten past this, hadn’t they? “What do you mean?”

“I n-need to get a-a-a-way, n-n-n-not _y-ou_ ,” Chris shook his head wildly, putting a stalling hand out. “I n-n-n-ee-d-d… Fuck,” he gritted his teeth and balled his fists. He went back to the bedroom, returning with his journal and flipping to a page to read something he’d obviously written there. “I need to… p-process. Decompress. F-for awhile. A-al-lone.”

Zach watched him carefully, taking in Chris’ eyes pleading for understanding, his body leery, poised for flight, or the fight of another attack. He was afraid again, afraid Zach’s reaction might be negative, that he could be disappointed. He needed to adjust, to realign his world with this idea, that he _could_ have Zach, fit him into his life more fully, let him occupy a previously bricked-off space.

“Okay. So what you’re saying is…” Zach attempted a translation, sidling closer, and when Chris didn’t retreat, closer still, until he was crowding Chris back to the sofa, making him sit heavily. Dropping to his own knees on the floor in front of him, he gathered him close in his arms, “What you’re saying is, you need to go home, and wrap your silly head around how I’m completely, incredibly, madly in love with you,” he purred against Chris’ cheek, watching a surprised smile break the surface. 

He grinned and nuzzled back in, “And that’s okay and we can make it work because we’re awesome together, right?” Chris squirmed and giggled under Zach’s teasing hands, his eyes crinkled up and pink cheeks rounding to their fullest, smiling and smiling and smiling. His palms came up to frame Zach’s face as he peppered kisses anywhere he could until he got lips, soft and sweet and making a noise of joy in his throat.

When they paused, Zach pressed their foreheads together and sighed, “I don’t want to let you out of my sight.”

“Fuck, me neither,” Chris clung to him. “That’s why I have to go. I have to…” he drew a deep breath, “I have to work. I have to… get back to normal. Relatively speaking. New normal.”

Zach buried his face in Chris’ chest and deeply inhaled the smell of him, fresh laundry mingled with his own soap, like they’d already permeated each other's lives. “And you’ll be okay for awhile? By yourself?”

Chris nodded with apologetic confidence. “I need it.”

Zach sighed, but accepted that with a nod of his own. This bout of recurring attacks was over. He didn’t need Zach so close anymore, not all the time. It wouldn’t be a permanent parting, as so many others had threatened to be. He looked back up hopefully. “Can I text you?”

Chris’ smile twitched at him, “Yeah.”

“Will you write to me?”

It widened, “Yeah.”

“Can we FaceTime Sex?” Zach lifted his eyebrows for his best wide brown puppy eyes, “Like, at least once a day?”

Giggling, Chris curled his fingers in Zach’s hair. “Maybe.”

“Only maybe?” Zach pouted.

“Only maybe,” Chris pressed his tongue between smiling teeth, “You can’t have everything at once, you’ll get so bored of me.”

“Not a fucking chance, Pine.”

Still, Zach hovered while he located his few dirty clothes, got him a grocery bag to keep them separated from his clean things. Chris looked in the bathroom where he’d left the spare toothbrush, but Zach slid it in the drawer next to his own.

“Just keep it here,” he explained, “That way you’ll always have one when you come and stay the night.”

He followed Chris to the apartment door where he hefted his bag over his shoulder. “Do you want me to walk you down to the street?” he asked. 

Chris shook his head, regret in his eyes, but he cupped the back of Zach’s head and kissed him, long and soundly. “It’s just for a little while. A few days.”

“Yeah,” Zach nodded and stole another kiss. “Be good, okay?”

Chris gave him his bright, beautiful smile, the one Zach wanted to believe was only his. “You be good.”

He leaned in his doorway to watch him go, down the hall to the stairwell, one last look passing between them before Chris disappeared, and then he shut himself back in, alone.

He blundered around dumbly, feeling bereft. The book he’d been enjoying before couldn’t hold his attention, and his banjo still sat propped by the couch, a reminder of what it had led to between them. The quiet was no different now than it was with Chris there, but it felt colder, more claustrophobic. In this, it was obvious how fundamentally different they were. Where Chris took comfort and recharged in being alone with his thoughts, Zach felt like he was missing a limb.

He pulled out his phone and sent a text. _i miss you already._

It was answered in just a few minutes. _Look in your bedroom._

Curious, he walked across to peer around in his room. There on his bed was Chris’ journal, with a note propped on top. 

_Read me Zach_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I personally really love this penultimate chapter. I will post the finale next week, and come out of hiding myself to you lovely, wonderful readers. Thank you so, so much for reading and all your sweet comments!


	25. Chapter 25

Zach was a damn good bartender. He was aware of every seat at his bar, filled or empty, covered with a jacket, in-between hoverers, at large on the floor or totaled out, even on the crowded weekends. The seat closest the wall was often behind the barkeep’s sightline and ubiquitously known to be ignored—which, depending on whether you were there to get sauced or just wanted a slightly quieter corner, could be good or bad. 

On a weeknight like tonight, after midnight and calm now that most patrons had headed home so they can stumble into their 9-to-5’s the next morning, that seat was typically left dark and empty, with the stragglers and regulars sticking to the main stretch. When someone slid quietly up around the edges of the wall and settled there, hiding in the shadow behind the bright neon of the liquor shelves, a shittier bartender than Zach might have failed to notice.

Chris propped his elbow up on the bar, his hand playing in his hair to hide his face from the people milling around, several seats down and chattering loudly with each other. His expression was a mask of concentration.

Zach leaned over with a grin, tilting his head. “Fancy meeting you here.”

Darting fearful eyes around at the closest warm bodies, Chris gnawed at his lip and clenched his fingers in the curtain of his hair draping his face. Zach let his own stroke up and down Chris’ propped forearm, until those eyes blinked and focused on him instead.

“There you are,” Zach smiled. “Did you bring your stuff with you?”

Chris nodded, his head tilting to indicate his bag of laundry resting at his feet. It was a good hour before closing time, and Chris had come here to the Cave, had _come inside_ a noisy, crowded establishment, with the intentions of waiting for Zach to be off so they could head down to the Wash  & Spin together. How many weeks had Chris told him he’d stood outside across the street, willing himself to come in, to take a huge leap of faith in himself? Tonight, he’d finally succeeded. 

“You are so incredibly brave, you know that?” Zach told him warmly, lifting his hand to brush Chris’ hair back. His lips vaguely turned up at the corners, but Zach knew the atmosphere was still far too much for him to get much more than that. “You want a drink? Whiskey?”

Chris nodded, frowning a little. Zach poured it with ice and a dash of water, knowing Chris was wary of alcohol with the medication he sometimes took, and he’d likely nurse just this small tumbler for the night, if he made it through. Zach set it before him, reaching over to smooth at the frown line between those eyebrows. “If you need a breather, flag me down, okay?” he offered, tapping the escape hatch right next to where Chris sat. He would much rather take Chris into the back room rather than risk him trying to hide in the Cave’s restroom. “Eyes on me, I’m always right here for you.”

Taking the glass before him, Chris merely held onto it, like it would anchor him here. Zach darted a quick glance around and leaned over to gently kiss his brow and stroke his cheek, “You are the most beautiful thing in this room. Do you know that? Now I’m all distracted.”

That earned him a flash of Chris’ smile, one he he widely matched before he had to pull himself away and get back to work. He caught Steve’s gaze down at his end of the bar, darting to Chris and back with a raised eyebrow. Zach shrugged and grinned, pulling an order of several beers and keeping more than half an eye on his dark corner as the early hours progressed.

Being with Chris was no cakewalk. There had been more hiccups along the way, more instances where Zach got frustrated and Chris hid himself away and had to be coaxed back like a mistreated puppy with love and patience.

But there had also been times when they’d invited each other even deeper into mutual trust. Zach had given Chris a key to his apartment and had been thrilled the first time he’d been awakened to Chris sliding into his bed. Chris had, in turn, given Zach a key of his own, even though the first time Zach had used it, he’d had to hold Chris gently through an attack and resolved never again to show up and let himself in unannounced like a moron. Each time he’d tried to give the key back, Chris had stubbornly refused.

Chris filled a journal nearly every week or two and began purposely leaving them around to be read, giving Zach insight into his innermost thoughts, his fears, his history. Each one left him with lingering feelings of intrusion, though he’d been given explicit permission to read just like any email or text. Then Chris had managed to explain how it helped him to think of Zach as a blank book, so patient and accepting of his fucked up thoughts, someone who took all his imperfections at face value and let him work them through, let him scratch out mistakes and find the perfect word or phrase, however long the search took. If he could spell out all the hundreds of fears locked in his head not just to blank pages, but to Zach who could tell him another perspective on those thoughts, maybe he could finally break free of his own brain, or at least be more functional with time.

It was a hell of a thing to be trusted with and Zach wanted to be worthy. He also wanted to stay that way.

At last call, Nipple Ring reappeared at the bar with his empty glass, immediately spotting Chris in the corner like he was fresh meat.

Zach picked up the glass and thunked it hard against the bar, yanking the guy’s attention back to him. “He’s not here for you,” he glared, projecting his considerable _don’t fucking touch what’s mine_ intensity.

“O-kay,” Nipple Ring lifted both hands palm out from the bar, before his leering grin was back, “So that’s why you wouldn’t go out with me? I can’t compete with a bit of pretty who hides in the corner?”

Zach took his glass, pulling up a fresh one to refill one last time and ignored that question. Nipple Ring’s eyes still darted back and forth between Chris and Zach, slouching his tattooed shoulders, “I see how it is. I bet he sleeps at the foot of your bed, right? Fetches your slippers, calls you Daddy? Does he do anything you tell him to?”

Zach laughed dismissively, “No.” He gave the guy a last pitied once-over and left it there, moving on to pull a beer for the next guy waiting. He could elaborate, but this relentless twit was the last person who needed to know specifics that he’d never understand. 

Maybe once, Zach had been the kind of guy who haunted a bar, tracking down the shy, dewy-eyed ones that would rollover at his command, the guy who played with his catch and then let it go without a thought, easily bored and impatient with inadequacies and personal quirks that got in his own self-absorbed way. He could see now why people had that impression of him, and not so long ago, it might have been true. 

Zach had come to realize he understood fear better than he thought he did. It was so much easier to fuck and run than get attached and be responsible for his own mistakes and the people he hurt because of them. People like that had made Chris the way he was now, people who chose to give up on him because he got a bit too upset over little things. He learned to blame himself because people like that had told him he was being irrational, he was overreacting, grow up, real men sucked it up and got over it. And then they were the ones who ran away because things got too hard.

That guy couldn’t compete with Chris even when he was a blubbering mess on the floor. And Zach was not that guy anymore. Instead he was the one allowed to rub his back, to wipe his brow and chest down with a cool cloth, to hold him close and tell him it was okay. He got to know Chris in every vulnerable way, the one person who had the privilege of kissing those lips, the one who was given the permission to take him apart and put him together again, who insisted afterwards that he was so good, so strong. 

Zach swiped at a small spill on the prep shelf and looked back over his shoulder. Those blue eyes cut up from his glass to meet his, brilliant cerulean in the neon light from out of the shadows, a spark of clear blue sky in the darkness.

Chris fought his fears every single day. Tonight, he was winning that fight. He sat at the bar like he wanted to be anywhere but here, throwing _don’t touch me_ spikes in the hunch of his shoulders, but when he caught Zach’s eye, his whole bearing softened and relaxed, just a hint. He still had a long way to go before any port in a storm was safe harbor, but he’d done it knowing he had a raft to hold him safely afloat above the choking waves.

_And I’d do anything he asks of me,_ Zach thought to himself with a smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THE END! I hope you've all enjoyed the journey.
> 
> Also hi, it's Suede, lol. I half-suspect some of you guessed that already. Now I'm going to go hide, because welcome to my personal manifestation of social anxiety, disappointing people.
> 
> I did end up cutting some stuff from this, so it is possible you might see other snippets of this verse in the future. ;)


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